


Understand

by SkyePhilosopher



Series: Understand [2]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, I Tried, I always forget and then add more important tags last, Jonatello, Like It's Bad, M/M, OOC, because i'm just a bad writer, but i'm a bad writer, casatello, casetello, casey tries hard, horrible pacing, i'm sorry for throwing this here, is it casetello?, meant to be kinda sad, not really beta read, super mutant donatello
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-01 11:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10188839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyePhilosopher/pseuds/SkyePhilosopher
Summary: Frozen. Leonardo was utterly frozen, paralyzed, immobile— all but his eyes. His eyes followed Donnie without fail, tracking his blind movements as he staggered away. Raph’s arm shoving him back hardly registered. This was all a dream, right? Yes, Leo would wake up soon and walk out of his room to see his little brother, smiling softly and nodding his head in greeting. But Donnie’s piercing shriek jerked him. No. No nightmare could ever be so cruel.*REWRITING*





	1. Understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donnie doesn't understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *7-17-17 UPDATE*  
> At some point in the future, I may rewrite this chapter. It's lacking in detail, maybe a little rushed, and overall, as I've improved, it's lost a lot of its appeal to me. My fanfiction was never quite the best, but, in my eyes, this is no longer a worthy opener.  
> ~  
> well guess not ha I just opted to rewrite the whole goddamn thing 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14497341/chapters/33490656

He didn’t understand.

He hurt. He hurt all over, and everything seared his nerves. Why did he hurt so much?

After a second, he eased his torso up and dragged his hind limbs underneath him. There. That didn’t hurt a lot. Not anymore.

He shifted his gaze downward and saw some bizarre bluish substance. Like ooze. Its acrid scent stung and burned the inside of his nostrils. He bounded back to get away from the worst of it.

But, then, something- someone- behind him exclaimed. He whipped his head back, lip curled in a silent snarl.

Three strange creatures who were green and clad in bright colors stared back at him. Scared. They were scared. He knew that.

One uttered, “Donnie?” He blinked and perked up. Donnie. That was familiar. Right. Donnie.

Another said something else, but he couldn’t comprehend anything but a second “Donnie” among the gibberish. But his tone was quiet and reassuring. That meant something.

Donnie(?) began reluctantly toward them. His head was clearer. Now that he thought more, they were also familiar, and all instinct told him to trust them. Perhaps they had weapons ready at their disposal, but no threat could ever look so… sad. So defeated- heartbroken. Lost.

Donnie didn’t pause or falter and came right up to them. They started talking in their language to him and to each other. He could pick out his name and “Casey” and “Mikey” and “Splinter.”

The one in orange- Mikey- kneeled down and murmured something. Donnie could only stare blankly.

Mikey’s face morphed into something like concern. He tried taking Donnie’s light green hand, but he pulled it back instinctively. Now Mikey looked anguished, and whimpered a noise that remotely sounded like the beginning syllable of “brother.” It made Donnie realize he loathed that expression on Mikey’s features. Attempting to make up for his mistake, Donnie let out a quiet rumble and pressed his head to Mikey’s plastron. He didn’t receive a physical response.

He lifted his head expectantly when Leo said his name, but he, again, didn’t comprehend the rest. Donnie’s shoulders fell forward. They were acting like he should understand. Should he understand?

His composed act visibly slipping, Leo said something else, more frantic. And that didn’t help. He suddenly paused and looked away, blinking rapidly.

After a moment of silence, Raph flung something to the ground, and a sharp, metallic noise reverberated and pierced Donnie's ears.

Donnie mewled and jerked back before shrinking away farther. He was confused and scared, now more than ever. Why was Raph angry? Did Donnie do something wrong?

Mikey had returned to his feet, and his startled gaze was alternating in between Leo and him. Leo looked to Raph. And Raph only met Donnie’s eyes briefly before looking down and murmuring. He then sank to his knees and extended a hand, trying to beckon him back.

Donnie wasn’t certain. What was stopping Raph from throwing something again? But Raph’s look shortly drew him back. He didn’t allow Donnie to nuzzle his hand.

Raph stood, and all three looked up at him sullenly. Then, after a brief swapping of words, they waved and clucked and started to walk.

Donnie whined, then roared. Were they just going to abandon him?

They whipped around and made a strange almost hissing sound, and Mikey put a finger to his lips. Bewildered, Donnie shut his jaws and stared at them. Raph’s gaze darted around briefly before he patted his thigh. When Donnie took a step forward, they slipped out of a doorway without a problem.

But when Donnie tried to exit -prompted by his brother to follow- he had much trouble, struggling to haul his lower body free. His ivory talons scrabbled for any kind of hold to help him.

And Donnie felt like all his energy and will had been consumed when he finally triumphed. He doubted his limbs had gone unscathed. They stung. Just as he started to crane his neck, somebody called his name.

Inclining his head, Donnie caught sight of his brothers above on a roof, encouraging him to jump. (That’s what he guessed. He still didn’t understand). He had nothing else to do and nowhere else to go. He grumbled and prepared to leap.

Donnie assumed they hadn’t anticipated his landing to be so eye-catching and loud. Perched on the edge of the roof, he looked down at them as they wildly glanced around. Donnie lowered his head and made a guttural noise of question. But they made that same hissing sound. He drew his head back and started to grumble again. It was cut off abruptly when Raph clamped his jaws shut, and Donnie got the idea.

Still holding his snout, Raph hastily led him to the opposite side and thrust a finger to the alley below. Donnie pulled away and peered down. He didn't understand the rush, but one of the last things he wanted to do was displease them. So he slipped into the space.

The excess room for him to maneuver was scant, and his face met the wall. He painfully turned, knocking a stray trash can over with his tail in the process. He glanced over absently, then back up when he heard the deliberate hiss. But why did he need to be quiet? Were all the strange creatures he could scent dangerous? He swallowed a growl. He wouldn't let them hurt his brothers.

As though summoned by the vow, they had joined him in the alley, tensed up in anticipation by his forelegs. Donnie, preparing too, lowered his body and bared his teeth and growled and unsheathed the entirety of his claws.

Mikey began to rub Donnie's arm and made the “shhh” sound. But it was a lot softer, kinder, without any frustration or panic. Donnie allowed muscles to relax a bit from their stressed way.

They made Donnie stay in the tight space for some more minutes before scaling the wall and coming to another roof. Donnie raised his head and whined. He doubted there was enough room for him to leap up.

But they encouraged him nonetheless. Donnie tried to move into a position from which he could join them and crushed the can underneath a hind foot. He winced and stared at his brothers forlornly.

Raph looked at Leo and said something lowly. Donnie blinked and returned to attempting to turn himself back to his former position. He knew for certain he couldn't jump up when his snout scraped the wall. With a puff, Donnie reared on his hind legs. He could only just reach the roof edge. He pushed up and, within four tries, managed to drag himself onto the roof.

Donnie didn't rise to follow them, so they retired to the smooth concrete next to him.

Mikey murmured to their older brothers as his eyes hovered over Donnie. Then, cautiously, he reached out and lay a hand on his cheek. So, naturally, in response, Donnie brushed his fingers with his tongue.

Mikey, first, let slip a crackling chuckle, and Donnie didn't think much of it until it abruptly evolved into tears.

Donnie, alarmed and confused and hurt, tried to nudge Mikey and soothe him, but he shied away. Donnie resorted to looking to his older brothers for reassurance, but they disregarded him and went to embrace and console Mikey.

Donnie whimpered.

He didn't understand.

 

Donnie had to crouch low to trail after his brothers like a lost puppy once they reached the sewers. It was clear they were more at ease below the bustling surface, though Donnie despised the smell and hoped wherever he was being led was more spacious.

Shortly, the shallow channels full of sludge and soiled water dispersed, and, ahead, Donnie could see with his sharp eyesight an opening partially blocked by turnstiles.

Leo uttered a command, and Mikey took off toward the room. Donnie paused, observing inquiringly until Raph clucked and urged him forward.

They took far longer than Mikey, and, by then, three, remotely familiar creatures accompanied him.

As soon as Donnie struggled over the turnstiles, he crept right up to the humanoid rat and delicately sniffed him. Leo started to say Donnie's name but broke off, so he was ignored.

The rat tensed, and Donnie, shortly satisfied, needed only to barely raise his head to meet Splinter's gaze. His father let out a kind of choked noise, and Donnie decided it wasn't worth trying to decipher it.

When he glanced left, he saw a human staring so imploringly it felt imperative that Donnie go to him.

He meant to nudge him fondly, but he instead was pushed back with contact. But he almost promptly bounced back, leaning forward and holding his head tenderly. The boy- Casey, he recalled- brought his forehead to his own, murmuring sweetly in a way Donnie somehow identified as uncharacteristic. Donnie rumbled in delight, pleased to finally be receiving some affection.

But then Leo called him over, and, despite not wanting to leave Casey's grasp, he gingerly pulled himself away and returned to his brothers’ side.

The female approached him this time, carefully. Donnie bowed his head to better smell her, but she took his head in her hands before he properly got the chance. He didn’t mind much until she dug her blunt nails into his temple and searing agony erupted in his skull.

Donnie jerked his head free with a roar. He staggered away, trembling, and shook his head first, then his entire body. After a moment, weakly, he raised his head to send April a wounded expression. He trusted her, and she hurt him.

She tried coming nearer, her hands raised in a conciliatory manner, but Donnie retreated with a cautionary growl. At that, her face fell, and she buried her face in her hands.

Donnie only hesitantly permitted Leo to come up. He muttered softly, motioning to the floor. When Donnie blinked and merely shifted his attention the ground briefly, Leo allowed a patient exhale and kneeled, patting the area beside him. Reluctantly, Donnie lowered himself onto the floor. After a second, his brother nodded and rose. So Donnie began to rise as well before Leo pushed down on his carapace.

Strongly encouraged to remain down, Donnie’s gaze swept over them all. Shortly, though, it fell to his distinctly lighter green hands. He rumbled softly, lifting one and flexing the pale-hued talons. They were so… long. Acute. Dangerous- especially taking into consideration that his brothers didn’t possess any claws whatsoever.

His brothers- why did he deem them so? He was nothing like them. Glancing over, they were speaking with Splinter, their attention occasionally flicking to him. Otherwise, they didn’t pay him much mind.

Splinter. He baffled Donnie even more. His mind told him he was his father. But he saw a rat, and his brothers were humanoid turtles, and he was…

What was Donnie?

He didn’t know, and he couldn't wrap his mind around the notions.

 

 

 

Donatello reluctantly uncurled himself from the comfort of the tree, pushing forward to investigate the curious food item Mikey presented. After only sniffing once, he recoiled in disgust. It appeared unappealing first, of course, but it impossibly smelled worse. The best thing he could compare it to was soggy cardboard.

Mikey’s grin turned down into a frown. He held it out farther, but when Donnie growled, he pulled back and muttered a word Donnie indistinctly recognized to be, “Okay.”

Once Mikey had devoured the slice, he tried reaching out to Donnie, but he refused to allow any contact while his fingers were infected.

They’d been trying to feed him all day- two days after he followed them home. He didn’t appreciate it. Nothing they brought was appetizing.

If only he could understand and speak in their language to tell them what he wanted exactly.

Donnie doubted they’d let him have it.

 

 

Wound around the tree behind Father, Donatello watched his brothers “train,” as they referred to it as. Leo had repeated it to him, but Donnie didn't connect until they began. He was concerned at first until he took notice of their boisterous laughter and light voices and respect with which they regarded each other.

So they didn't mean it. Okay.

He didn't quite understand the point.

But what did Donnie understand?

 

Donnie understood affection and the fact that Casey was great at giving it.

The boy seemed to know every spot that made Donnie melt in his hands. And, at that point, Donnie’s head took up and hung over his lap. The purrs and rumbles that rolled out of his throat were thick and guttural and drowsy. They only increased in volume when Casey's nails dug into an area just below his jawbone.

Raising his head, Donnie nudged his snout under Casey's chin and hooked his three right claws- excluding his dew claw- in his sleeve. With a distinct increase in his purrs’ volume, he tugged gently and nuzzled impossibly closer.

The boy chuckled lightly, taking his head and bringing his to Donnie's level. He smiled warmly, moving his hands to Donnie's cheeks. He said something, but Donnie hardly acknowledged it, let alone bothered to try to make sense of it.

But then Casey sobered, and his grip tightened, and he uttered something else fiercely.

Donnie, a bit uncertain and concerned, was about to pull away until Casey leaned forward and wrapped his thin arms around Donnie's neck.

Donnie could comprehend “okay.”

 

“Donnie!”

Donatello had caught Mikey's approach, but only then shifted his attention toward him. He clutched a strange plastic red oval with a handle and had his typical grin plastered on his face. Donnie’s gaze hovered over the object momentarily before he rose to properly greet his brother.

Mikey patted Donnie's arm affectionately. Donnie retired to his haunches nearly promptly, lowering his head and purring.

Mikey clucked to get his strict attention. His grin had diminished slightly. And, after reluctance, he turned the object around.

Alarmed, Donnie roared and drew back, snarling. Mikey took a deep breath and said, “No, Donnie.”

Uncertainly, slowly, Donnie slunk back and glared at the unfamiliar beast. It had a green head with a lighter- nearly white- snout and large, icy blue eyes surrounded by distinct purple markings. From its neck, he saw darker green and far lighter green splotches dappling its scales and overlapping.

He raised a hand, furious to see the creature mimicking him. When he snarled, it snarled. Enraged, he was prepared to give it a good smack before Mikey pulled the object away and the beast vanished. Mikey, again, told him no.

Donnie was baffled. When he bent down and sniffed once, he only detected himself and his father and his brothers and Casey and April, like the other animal was never present. Donnie looked to Mikey for an explanation.

And Mikey slowly revealed the crimson object’s opposite side once more, but now murmured reassuringly. Donnie couldn't think why until he caught sight of the monster again.

But Mikey said it was okay. He wouldn't lie, right?

So Donnie stared at it silently, more thoroughly taking in its pale blue irises that consumed the complete visible eye and the many separate veins of blues and the light flare surrounding a narrow pupil. Gently, he brought his hand up again and tapped it once. Donnie was surprised to find there was a solid surface. The beast had copied him and now looked very puzzled. Was it trapped?

Donnie lowered his head and, after sniffing once but not catching any unfamiliar scent, nudged the cold surface. That was when Mikey pulled it away again, looking utterly defeated and broken.

Donnie whined, picking up on his brother's anguish.

But Donnie didn't understand.


	2. Why Don't You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Donnie turns into a dog multiple times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a rewrite of the last bit. I'm trying my best to think of ideas, but the few I have are in pieces and need to be tied together in some logical way. I'm determined to come up with some conclusion for this, whether it be happy or sad. Ah. The pain of writing a story that was initially only meant to be a one-shot of related scenes. If there are any errors, I'll try my best to find and fix them later. Also, I think there's a considerable bit more of Jonatello in this.  
> 

Leo only stared blankly as _it_ eased itself up, fiercely denying the truth- the idea that the _thing_ with a sweeping tail and claws longer than throwing knives was his little brother. Donatello. _Donnie_.

Leo watched as his brother tilted his head, letting out a low noise. He still felt as though he was frozen, like if he even slightly moved, Donnie would wheel around and attack and there'd be nothing they could do about it.

Then, with a sudden surge of energy, Donnie leapt back, and Leo took brisk note of his rippling muscles, the pure physical power beneath his scales. The sharp movement broke Leo free of his stupor, and, despite Donnie not being anywhere too near, he jerked back. Beside him, Raph’s arm brushed his, and Mikey made a sound of alarm.

It must have startled Donnie, as he whirled, his entire body tensing as he turned his lips in a mute snarl. With horror, Leonardo also took notice of his little brother’s pearly white acute teeth.

“Donnie…” Mikey murmured, his eyes rapidly flickering to take in the deformities defining his physical self. The contorting expression faltered a bit, and then remained a tad longer before crumbling. Something that suggested recognition replaced the blatant aggression, and Donnie’s body gradually relaxed.

“God, Donnie…” Raph said, his voice at first a breathless whisper. Donnie’s head rose, his neutral, albeit puzzled, gaze shifting toward him. Upon seeing he had his attention, Raph continued stronger. “Are… a-are you okay?” Leo could not recall a time when Raph had been so weak, stumbling over his words and looking utterly _defeated_.

Donnie’s brows furrowed, and he stood still momentarily before turning completely, beginning to reluctantly slink up to them.

“Donnie, _are you okay_?” Raph prompted again.

He tried to go on, but Mikey cut him off with a hoarse, muttered, “God, Casey's gonna be  _ pissed _ ,” more to himself it seemed than anyone else. 

“That’s not important right now, Mikey,” Leo murmured, swallowing thickly as he inclined his head to look up to his _little_ brother.

Raph added to the swapping by hoarsely muttering, “God, what’re we gonna tell Splinter?”

Donnie blinked, crouching just below their level.

After a long moment of silence, Mikey murmured, “You haven't really answered us. Are you 'kay, Don?” Donnie didn't give any sign of comprehension. He may have just slightly tilted his head left, but his ambiguous expression remained. Mikey, his brows furrowed, carefully reached out for Donnie's lighter hand, but Donnie pulled away. Mikey's face fell injured, and he whispered, “Bro?”

Now Donnie appeared upset. He blinked and looked over Mikey quickly before making a low, guttural noise and pushing his head against his plastron. Mikey didn't respond, apparently stupefied.

“Donnie,” Leonardo said slowly. “Donnie, do you understand?” Donnie released a faint huff and slumped, but that was all in response.

“Donnie, _please,_ you _have_ to-” Leo cut himself off and turned away. Blinking away tears, he further averted his brother's questioning gaze. The confusion and the ignorance _that had no place_ in his unfamiliar, pale blue eyes said it all.

Donnie felt like a stranger or a lost dog they picked up on the side of the road. Because… almost _nothing_ stumped Donnie or confused him. He was bright, smart, intelligent, clever, brilliant, genius- any similar synonym. Yet, here he was, growling unintelligibly and not able to understand the simplest of English. Leo grimaced before glancing at Raph, who had stiffened beside him.

And him throwing his sai to the ground surprised even him. “It's not fair." Leo could just hear him whisper. “ _It's not fair_.”

Donnie jerked away with a whimper, scuttling away farther while his white-tipped tail curled around his left rear leg. His pupils, now mere slivers, danced wildly around, his lips drawn back.

Mikey had stood swiftly, staring at Raph once, then Leo, then Donnie, and finally alternating between the last two.

Raph swallowed thickly, looking to his sai for a second before falling to his knees and reaching out to his little brother.

Nostrils quivering, Donnie's eyes locked onto Raph's hand. After a deep breath, Donnie raised one hand as if preparing to step. And, shortly, he followed through, slinking back.

As though Raph had never startled him, Donnie leaned to nudge Raph's hand affectionately and was surprised to see that Raph pulled away. He drew his head back and tilted it again, narrowing his eyes. But then he cast his remotely hurt gaze downward and grimaced.

Raph stood, inclining his head to see Donatello better. “God, now I feel bad.”

“Poor Don. Just completely. Poor Donnie.”

“I don’t think Donnie would appreciate all this pity,” Leo murmured. “C’mon, guys, we needa get him back to the lair.”

“How?” Mikey muttered, too looking at Donnie, who had resumed his quizzical stare. “He’s so… big.”

“Through an abandoned subway entrance,” Leo said, already turning.

“That’s crazy risky. _You’re_ crazy. We’d be caught without a doubt!” Raph protested hotly. He flinched a bit when Donnie whimpered.

“Yeah, but you think Donnie can fit through a manhole? Also, we’ve been spotted a few times, probably. Long as we’re careful afterward, they’ll forget ‘bout us,” Mikey said. “We just keep Donnie in the lair once we get back.”

Raphael glanced at his super mutant brother, scowling, but then shifted his gaze toward Leonardo silently. His shoulders slumped.

As they started to walk toward the door, they began waving their arms and clucking, and Mikey even said, “C’mon, Donnie,” just trying to get him to follow.

But Donnie’s eyes widened, his jaw fell, and he stared at them with the most shocked features. A surprisingly high whine came from him. And, before they could reassure him, the roar of anguish erupted.

“Dammit-”

They cut him off as best as they could with “SHH!”

Donnie did indeed quiet. Once his surprise dwindled, his features came to reflect his utter crestfallenness.

A small huff escaped Raph, and, after glancing around briefly, he patted his leg like he would with any stray dog to encourage them. Donnie seemed to half-understand, for he took one, uncertain step forward. When they smiled and nodded, Donnie continued his approach, and the three exited through a side door. His brothers turned to persuade him farther out before scaling a wall and coming to the adjacent roof. They hadn’t anticipated Donnie getting stuck.

With whimpers of distress, halfway through, Donnie tried returning to the inside of the building, but his bulging shoulders prevented such action. So he had to push forward. His claws scraped against concrete, forming fine grooves.

Finally, with one, powerful surge, Donatello jerked free with a shower of loose concrete and grit. He promptly picked himself up and shook. Before he could risk anymore time being spotted by citizens, Leo called. Upon hearing his name, Donnie raised his head and abandoned the idea of checking his grazes. They didn’t need to do much to get Donnie up.

But they didn’t anticipate concrete crumbling and a thunderous rumble either.

Donnie had landed squarely on the roof and now balanced on the edge, tail lashing below. “Don- _nie_ ,” Mikey said softly. “Bro.” In response, Donatello merely grumbled, though his eyes were on them all, nearly amused. But they hushed him, and his eyes narrowed. He went on to make a similar noise after drawing his head back.

Raph huffed, interrupting his animalistic sound by clamping his elongated beak shut. After a moment of reluctance, Raph rushed Donnie to the opposite side and demanded he go.

Twisting his head free, Donnie looked down to the alley. After giving his red-clad brother a look that suggested, “You’re sure? ” he obeyed and slid down.  Raph inwardly cursed Donnie’s tail when it smacked a trash can into the wall. Because it seemed one of the few gestures or hints or words his animalistic brother could now hopefully fathom, Raph shushed him.

With a rise in the startled shouts, Raph and his two other siblings leaped down to join a hostile Donatello. But he nearly disregarded them, instead setting his piercing icy blue glare ahead.

“Donnie, no, don’t growl,” Mikey murmured. “Shh, buddy. It’s okay.” Cautiously, he rubbed Donnie’s arm and was pleased to see his brother relax.

After a few minutes, Leo concluded staying hidden was too dangerous because they could be trapped. So he and Raph and Mikey quickly advanced to a nearby rooftop and proceeded to inspire Donnie to join them.

He let out a sort of dejected noise, trying his best to comply. After a few seconds, the same nettlesome can met Donnie's foot with a strident scrape. He flinched and turned to them a gloomy stare. “Do you think we should go a different way?” Raph questioned. “Make it easier on him?”

“Let him try first,” Leo responded, patting the roof edge.

Donnie succeeded in turning shortly, proceeding to rear and reach the roof, claws clicking. Donnie tried to haul himself up, got halfway, and then fell back with a grunt. He made it up within three more attempts.

“Good,” Leo praised, offering a smile. “C'mon, Dee.” But he didn't stand, yet sprawled on the surface, looking to them with drained, pale eyes.

“Buddy?” Mikey said, coming nearer, now crouching. “Hey.” Mikey settled further on Donnie right side. Leo and Raph came to rest on the opposite. At this, Donatello raised his head, rumbling.

Mikey allowed a small smile. “You know,” he said, “Donnie's real… pretty.”

“Pretty,” Leo repeated. “Yeah, I guess.”

Leo supposed the dark green and mint green splotches marking Donnie's visible scales weren't too horrible. They looked okay with the olive green of his original scales underneath the dominant dapples. Gazing closer, the light areas on his elongated beak and feet and tail weren't white, but a very pale green. The purple markings around his eyes, as he saw when Donnie's head turned to them, were actually quite elaborate, unique from one another. Leo squinted. A dark smudge on his forehead marked his otherwise light head.

And… Donnie's eyes weren't completely mindless. Leo could still detect the Donnie-like curiosity. All his warmth. It was just suggested differently.

Pretty. Good of a word as any.

Mikey placed a soft hand on Donnie's cheek, eliciting a pleased rumble from the latter, and his head twisted to lick his little brother's fingers affectionately.

“Oh my god Donnie just licked me-” Mikey said around chuckles very quickly turning into sobs. “He _licked me_ -”

Nearly immediately, Raph and Leo nudged away a concerned and upset Donatello to provide solace.

Once Mikey had cut off his outburst in embarrassment, Raph turned to Donatello, who was now resting on his haunches, his head bowed, deliberately averting their gazes.

“Hey, it's okay, Donnie. It's okay. It's not your fault. You don't know what you're doing; you can't help it,” he murmured, rubbing his arm. Donnie's head rose a bit and then completely when Leo called them both. He let out a sigh through his nostrils, letting Raph go on before he hauled himself up to lag behind.

 

 

Michelangelo glanced back to his brother, noting with amusement his lip curling back as they trudged through the sewers. They could only assume his senses had enhanced- of course, it’d smell even worse.

“Mikey,” Leo muttered then, breaking the verbal silence. “Please go ahead. You’re the fastest. Tell Sensei what’s happened before we get there.”

The one in question shot a quick glance at his quadruped brother. “Right- yeah, okay.” He nodded too vigorously and broke away, jogging beyond his eldest brother before starting his sprint.

It didn't take too long to arrive, running and pushing his already exhausted body even further past its limits.

“Michelangelo,” Sensei said as Mikey brushed past the turnstiles, his voice brimming with his uncontrollable anxiety. “Are you okay? Where are your brothers?”

“I'm fine- we're fine-"

“Mikey?” A distant, familiar voice, from the kitchen. April.

The two humans scrambled from the kitchen, tripping over their feet in their enthusiasm to see their formerly MIA friends. “Mikey!” April exclaimed again.

“Hey,” he replied simply. “Why're you still here?”

They didn't respond, clearly having seen Mikey's older brothers’ absences. “Oh god-” Casey started, his face falling grave with some horrible misapprehension.

“No, hey, they're okay. They're coming. But-"  

“Oh _god_ -”

“ _But_ , uh, uhm-“ he grappled with English, desperately trying to find proper words. “Donnie's, uh, been mutated into… something? Uh-”

“ _Mutated_?”

“... Yeah.”

After that, Casey was silent, his vacant gaze locked on a distant wall. April seemed quite interested in her shoes.  

“Is- Is Donatello with your brothers?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he… conscious?”

“Conscious?” Mikey repeated. After a moment, he went on to say, “No? I mean, it’s not like he’s aggressive, I guess. He’s still Donnie. I mean, kinda?” After a second of respite, he elaborated with, “I don’t think _our_ Donnie is in control. He doesn’t understand a lot besides his name and ‘shh.’ I _think_ he recognizes us by our names. I guess it’s something.” A bout of tangible silence succeeded, constricting and overbearing.

“Something,” Splinter echoed under his breath, turning a dulled gaze to the entrance.

Suddenly, Casey laughed, saying something around snorts that sounded remotely like, “You’re _so funny_.” They ended abruptly with a choke as the beast trailing behind Raph and Leo turned the corner.

Donnie’s previously bowed head shot up, and his eyes were bright and inquisitive, suggestive of a former Donatello represented in a different light. He rumbled, nudging past the two and trying to leap over the turnstiles, inevitably tripping up. It didn't seem to quell his curiosity, for he stood right back up and resumed his approach toward Splinter.

“Donatello?” Splinter murmured, offering one hesitant hand. But Donatello disregarded the gesture, bringing his cold nose to Splinter’s neck.

“Donnie-” Leo began, but stopped, seeing as it was too late to discourage the action.

Donatello looked up, his eyes now also reflecting the warmth of recognition, melting a bit the icy shade. But they were just so foreign and were nothing similar to his red eyes, that Splinter couldn't connect that _this was his child,_ not just some mutant his other children picked up tonight. With a realization, Splinter's throat constricted.

His poor _son-_

 

 

“What’re we gonna do?” Mikey asked miserably, giving his brother a quick glance. “All that science stuff is Donnie’s thing.”

“We can discuss such plans tomorrow,” Splinter muttered in response.

After a moment, Leo questioned, “Where’s Donnie gonna sleep? I’m pretty sure he’s too big to fit in his room comfortably, and I don’t think the living room’s much better.”

“Could the dojo work?” April said. “It’s bigger for sure.” She glanced at Splinter, hoping for some agreement.

“Yes, certainly,” he said absently, starting to walk toward their bedrooms.

While April and Raph and Leo and Mikey watched their Sensei depart in puzzlement, Casey turned to a drowsy Donatello, lulled by the supposedly incomprehensible murmurs of their voices and the opportunity to rest, and said, “C’mere, Donnie.” His boyfriend’s head was reluctant to rise, and his body seemed even less willing to comply, but he trudged over regardless. He was a lot more pleasant when Casey began stroking his splotched neck, for he emitted a deep, rumbling purr that the human was able to feel in his bones.

Suddenly, testily, Raph hissed, “ _Don't do that_!”

“Why not?” Casey retorted, his hand falling.

“Donnie’s not an animal!”

“I _know_ that.” Casey tensed, his eyes narrowing. “It's been a rough night for all of us. Don't you think Donnie _deserves_ some attention after it?”

“Yeah, but not like that.”

“Welp,” Mikey said blithely, interrupting. “C’mon, Donnie.” Donnie let out some kind of snort, laboriously standing and plodding after his brother.

Leonardo entered the training area in time to observe Donnie beginning to investigate the space, his head low as he leisurely crept about.  Leo was relatively fine with allowing Donnie to sniff around if it made him feel more at ease. As Donnie began trying to nose and paw his way into Splinter’s room, Raph said, “Donnie, come here.”

Former heaviness returned, Donnie came up and lowered his head to Raph’s level, his stare almost blank besides a dull exhaustion. Lacking his prior severity, Raphael said, “Find somewhere to lay down.”

Donnie's eyes narrowed, and he stood motionless for a long moment before settling himself down right in front of them all. He was able to gaze evenly into his red-clad brother’s eyes. “You’re sure you wanna  lie there?” Donnie only lowered his head, not even attempting to process the question.

Then, suddenly, Splinter entered, in his grasp a mass of blankets and pillows. He maneuvered around them, setting the soft bundle behind the familiar tree. Promptly, Donnie hauled himself up to collapse right back down onto the pile. “I assumed you would prefer to remain with your brother,” Splinter murmured, kneeling and tugging one sheet free.

“Yeah,” Mikey said, joining them. “ _Donnie_ , you need to _share_.” He gave his brother a gentle, good-natured shove, and, with a huff, Donnie slid off.

While their older brothers and father set up, Casey sidled up. “Hey,” he said, kneeling, addressing Donatello. “I gotta go now if I wanna come back at all tomorrow.” He held out a hand, further bringing it to Donnie’s cheek. “Let’s hope my dad has some kinda mercy.” Donnie rumbled, pressing against his palm. After a second, Casey muttered, “Yeah,” drawing his hand back and standing. “I’ll try.”

“I should leave too,” April said quietly. “I'm going to ask my dad if he can help with some kind of retro-mutagen.”And with a few more shared words and a remorseful glance at Donnie, April followed her human companion out. Donnie didn't take notice, more focused on watching Splinter and Raph and Leo laying out and situating the blankets through half-closed eyes as Mikey rubbed his bicep, skimming past the grazes that had long scabbed over.  

As soon as they were satisfied, Mikey freed Donnie. Immediately, he dragged himself over and buried his face into a pillow.

Michelangelo came over, nestling against Donnie's side, his head resting on his brother's arm. Without opening his eyes, Donnie shifted as to nudge and acknowledge him, a soft sigh released from his nostrils. Raph joined them too, slinging an arm over his carapace while Leo crawled up next to Mikey.

Donatello was asleep when Splinter kneeled and settled, caressing his cheek lightly with his knuckles. His fingers soon unfurled, tracing the unsymmetrical, purple swirls up by his eyes. They felt different from his scales, almost velvety, like the fabric of his mask.

His son’s eyes opened with a quiet rumble, but he was easily lulled back by Splinter’s rhythmic strokes across his neck.

“Father,” Mikey mumbled drowsily. “Dad, what _are_ we gonna do?”

“We will try our best to help develop some form of… retro-mutagen, yes? That is what you call it?”

“Yeah,” Mikey replied, lifting his heavy head to meet Splinter’s gaze. “Do you know where Donnie hid the original… recipe?” Quickly, though, he added, “Leo probably knows. But did he tell you?”

“Yes,” Splinter said simply, reaching out to squeeze his son’s shoulder. “Now sleep. We need all the attentiveness we can muster later.”

“Later,” he echoed. “It is past twelve, isn’t it?” And, with that, Mikey’s head sunk, returning to rest comfortably on his big brother’s thick, unfamiliar, dappled arm.

 

 

“Leo!” Mikey exclaimed upon seeing his eldest brother enter the lair. “Where have you been?”

“I went to see Rockwell and ask him if he could help.”

“Dude, you can’t just run off without telling us where you went, you big hypocrite.” Mikey’s exasperation melted, temporarily pushed aside. “Leo, Donnie’s still not eating anything.”

“Did you offer him pizza again?”

“Well, yeah.”

“If he didn’t want it the first five times,” Leo said, “then what makes you think he’ll want it now?”

“Maybe he’d be hungry enough to _try_.” Mikey huffed, rubbing his face. After a moment, he murmured, “Leo, what’re gonna do? He’s so difficult- he won’t even eat.”

“Is he drinking? Drinking the water?” Leo asked then.

“Drinking what we give him.”

Leo heaved a sigh, collapsing beside his brother on the couch. “I think we should expand. Humor his animal mind until we can get Donnie back in his mind or in his normal body.”

“‘Humor his animal mind,’ Leo? What’re you saying?”

Leo looked up, his face the shade of his mask. “We could try feeding him algae an- well, actually, maybe raw meat. His teeth look more accustomed to meat.”

He anticipated a fierce objection, but he was surprised to see Mikey’s head fall. “Maybe,” he murmured. “I just don’t want Donnie starving. I’ll be willing to give him anything.”

Leo’s hand fell onto Mikey’s shoulder, lingering. “Is Casey or April here? I don’t think we have meat right now.”

“April’s not here, but Casey is.” Mikey perked up. “I think he’s with Donnie.”

“Right.” Leo only then noticed he had moved to sitting stiff, and he tried his best to sink into the comfort of the couch. He inhaled deeply, releasing his breath shortly in a sigh. “This…”

“Sucks?”

“For lack of a better term,” Leo said, “yeah.”

Meanwhile, Casey had indeed snuck off to visit Donatello while he could, with Raph distracted. He seemed absolutely determined to keep Casey away from Donnie because _God forbid_ he be concerned about his boyfriend. Raph snarled if even gave him an idle glance. Casey figured it had something to do with “treating Donnie like an animal.” Which, he supposed, was within reason to be worried about if he felt it’d be counter-productive.  But it totally wasn’t, though, because rejecting any affection from him repeatedly and neglecting him would render it even worse. And, anyway, there was no danger of Donnie being repressed because he was very present. Casey _knew_ that.  

Casey moved his right index finger toward one vertebrae in his neck, pressing gently to have him lower his already bowed head. He shifted on his haunches, releasing a strange, low chitter in between two throaty purrs before falling forward into Casey, about knocking him over.

Once he recovered, he huffed, “Again, Donnie? You need to stop.” With a teasing grin,  he slipped his hand underneath Donnie’s mandible. His eyes opened a bit with the upward movement, and his attention struggled to focus on the boy's dark eyes and his trademark smirk.  His lips turned up in a small smile, oscitant and contented. Another chirr came from him as he tilted his head, nuzzling Casey's palm with a cool nose. Then, with a sudden, strong exhale, his head sunk, settling in Casey's lap.

“Oh, I see,” Casey said, lightly tapping the bridge of his snout to get Donnie's eyes open again. “You're just using me for your own personal pleasure an’ comfort.” He didn't respond to the rise, his lids instead sliding down to conceal his hazy blue pools while he pulled his lower body tighter.

“Aw, fine,” he muttered, yet beaming. He went on to rub Donnie's cheeks roughly in just the right way that made the volume of Donnie's guttural purrs spike and then quaver under the force before balancing again.

Casey's hands dragged down, his thumbs slipping into an area below his lower jaw. If his purrs were anything to go by, Donnie was absolutely delighted.

Leisurely, Donnie picked up his head and nudged Casey's chin with his snout until he surrendered and brought it up. Despite his icy nose, the soft exhales on Casey's throat were pleasantly warm, adding to his predominantly heated skin.

The needle-thin and needle-sharp tips of Donnie's talons caught on his sleeve. His purrs were interrupted again by a pleased chirr as he pushed himself closer so Casey could feel the guttural noises from deep within his boyfriend's throat.

Casey laughed, partly with the strange sensation and otherwise with the absurdity of this whole giant situation. He continued to humor him, dragging his hands upward to find a place on Donnie's cheeks. He pulled him away only to gently knock his head against Donnie's, holding them there afterward.

“They're working on a retro-mutagen for you. Everything’ll be back to normal soon,” Casey promised, staring into his big blue eyes. The ignorance and sheer disregard shining through the sleepy glaze sent a surge of frustration through Casey. This wasn't Donnie. Why was he acting like this?

It was the Foot, Casey knew, that did this. The one time he wasn't there- he could've protected Donnie, pushed him away, took it himself, could've just done _something_ -

The frustration had coaxed the tiny flame of fury into a raging inferno, boiling his blood and setting his mind alight with the very idea of-

Dammit. Donnie was scared.

Maybe not scared. Uncertain. Concerned. Concerned and uncertain and confused.

Casey hadn't noticed his grip had tightened until the whimper broke him out of the spell.

A little bit. He hadn't shed the anger entirely, and when he spoke again, his voice was fierce and harsh.

“You’re gonna be _fine_ , and the Foot will get what's coming to them. _I promise_.”

Donnie whined, pulling his head just a bit. And, at that, Casey melted, hunching and looping his arms around Donnie's neck. “God, I'm sorry,” he whispered. “It's… It's gonna be okay. Everything's gonna be okay… okay?”

When Donnie gently twisted himself free and met Casey's gaze in confusion, the boy huffed and re-established a gentle hold, bringing his head nearer to place a soft, tender kiss on Donnie's nose.

Casey didn't pull away, but he raised his head a bit to see Donnie's reaction, which, presently, was blank and stupefied. But, as his gaze again fell on Casey, it grew warm and pleasant, his eyes narrowing in affection as he shifted his head enough to be able to nuzzle Casey's hand once more, his purrs starting back up.

Casey sighed, bringing their heads together. “You're gonna be just fine.”

 

 

“Hey,” Raph muttered, coming to sit beside Mikey at the kitchen table, pulling a chair nearer. “I know it hasn’t been the best week, but you’re lookin’ a lot more upset than usual. Soo, what’s up?”

Mikey only then acknowledged his brother’s presence and question, first with an inarticulate grumble, then with a mumbled answer of, “Donnie doesn’t recognize himself in a mirror.”   

“Oh.”

“He didn’t even know what it was,” he went on dryly, his fingers shifting to grip the mirror's handle firmly. He squeezed his eyes closed, clenching his teeth. “He tried to attack it.”

“We’ll get our Donnie back soon,” said Raph. “They’re wo-"

“Yeah, but it’ll take months!” Mikey grumbled furiously. “Years!” His clenching grasp on the mirror tightened further, and he raised both it and his head, glaring at the back of it so severely it could be thought the inanimate object was the cause of every misfortune.  

Gently prying the mirror free, Raph muttered, “That’s a bit extreme, doncha' think? They’d said it _could_ take a year to find a method, but, really, the chance o’ that is slim.” Mikey only stared vacantly forward, fiddling anxiously with thumbs.

 


	3. Do You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donnie decides joining a raging fight is a good idea.  
> But he does it for his family.  
> So it's okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not proud of this. It's unnatural, and the pacing's way off. But I'm tired of looking at it.  
> Also, Donnie's "animal mind" gets upset when he doesn't get his way.

Donnie glanced up from washing his left forelimb as he heard the shuffle of approaching feet and caught the irony scent of meat, mingled with some fainter, fresher smell he determined to be water. He didn’t resume, instead shifting to better watch them enter.

Shortly, they came- Leo and Raph. No Mikey this time. Which, he supposed, wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Donnie hadn’t seen much of Raph and Leo since the training session… When had that been? He had lost all track of time. Oh well. It was nice to see them anyway.

Raph said something while Donnie was distracted, maybe, “Hey, Donnie.” He thought it sounded appropriate. Leo only smiled rather weakly, and Donnie could sense the underlying anxiety and headache. He could only imagine the dark circles concealed behind his blue mask. Underneath Donnie’s stare, Leo seemed to attempt suppressing the dull weariness in his eyes.

“Hey,” he muttered. As Donnie rumbled a greeting, warm as the guttural sound could possibly be, the smile quirked up, just a bit.

They sat down, pushing forward the paper plate on which the meat rested. Just like last time.

His head bowed, Donnie began snapping up the chunks. They were not the freshest, he noted. They were cold and had some distinct metallic tang not from the meat itself. It definitely didn’t taste how instinct told him it should. However, it was still far better than… pizza? Is that what it was called? He had heard it a few times. It could be safely assumed the soggy cardboard was pizza.

As he ate, he kept an ear on his brothers’ low, murmuring conversation, listening for any words he could recognize and any new words he could learn. Certainly, he easily distinguished all the familiar names (Leo, Raph, Splinter, etc.) and some newer words he had recently picked up on, like “he” and “she” and countless others. Unfortunately, though, the language was still primarily gibberish, almost none of the more complex words making any sense. Even a lot of words with far fewer syllables were yet a mystery.

That didn't mean Donnie didn't try.

He had come more to terms with their anguish. Understood it more. He tried to comprehend what they said. He tried so hard. He _was_ supposed to understand. And, now, when he failed, he felt… horrible, for lack of a proper term.

“I… Donnie was more…”

He lifted his head at his name, swiping his tongue over his jaws. Once he determined it was nothing, he hastily finished the meat and licked the plate, trying to get the small bit of myoglobin and water that had seeped from the raw chunks. Very quickly, he had nudged the plate out of his neck’s reach, and Raph then took it despite Donnie's brief protest.

It was quickly forgotten as he was presented with a Tupperware bowl of water. Eagerly, he lapped it up. As with the meat, it was not the freshest, and it had still a metallic tang, but he had gradually grown accustomed to the taste. It was water, anyway.

Donnie paused upon hearing an awfully familiar word within his brothers’ conversation. Raph spoke it with cold anger, his fists tight and his green eyes stormy and sparking. Leo then murmured, collected in his manner.

Raph snarled, pressing roughly his fist into his palm. Leo reached out and took his arm. His tone was sharp, but his eyes were in agreement. He frowned, nodding his head toward Donnie.

When Raph looked to him, he crumbled a bit in expression. “It'll be okay, Donnie,” he muttered, and Donnie could understand it well enough.

 _Of course it'll be okay,_ he thought. _Why wouldn't it_? He broke eye contact to crane his head back, rasping his tongue over the healing grazes on that shoulder as they began to itch.

Later that day, the girl- April- had come in, accompanying all of them, including Splinter. After eying her warily, Donnie snorted and went back to picking at his nails, seeing as strict repercussion followed clawing the far more appealing tree. Claw maintenance had to be attended to by teeth.

“What’re you doing?” Mikey laughed softly, coming next to his brother to rest by his right shoulder. Donnie supposed he must look a bit funny, chewing insistently.

April spoke then, her words quick and carrying some kind of concern. Donnie gave her a sideways glance, pausing his biting to swipe his tongue over the particularly difficult talon. He was rather _rudely_ interrupted by Splinter pulling his limb down, his reddish eyes set on his paw.

Donnie grumbled, uncomfortably trying to tug his arm back as he inspected the area surrounding the claws. Finally, with one jerk, Donnie gave an agitated growl, inching back before once more resuming his attempt to remove it of the old sheath, his tail lashing. 

Splinter released an exasperated sigh, appearing only remotely hurt. “Donatello,” he rasped, using the name Donnie had only recently connected to himself. He said something else next, but Donnie only caught bits. Though, he understood well enough once Splinter stepped forward.

Donnie curled his lip back, hauling himself to his feet to turn and collapse back down. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone?

He stiffened when Leo’s finger brushed his arm but shortly relaxed once Leo murmured- not to Donnie, perhaps, but it was generally a kind thing and always found a way to mollify him.

“Nope,” Casey said in response, throwing himself against Donnie’s side. He couldn’t think how it could possibly be comfortable with his carapace digging into his neck. Mikey was more reasonable, re-establishing his place leaning on Donnie’s arm.

Donnie had thought they had come to train as per usual. Though, as they settled all around and near him, they showed no intention of rousing, the wide conversation quiet in tone.

As his muscles began to ache, Donnie surrendered and at last lowered his arm; he would bother with it later. He allowed his head to sink too, the comforting drone of familiar voices lulling him. Donnie felt no need to combat the sensation, and their murmurs steadily faded.

 

Once Donnie had been roused by Mikey’s movement, he found it difficult fall back into the deeper territory of slumber. He slipped in and out of consciousness, in and out of a pleasant drowse.

After a bit of this, he gave a huff, rising a bit in a luxurious stretch, his claw flexing. Without breaking off the continuous low noise, he arched his back. He only flopped back down with a sigh once the stiffness eased.

Deciding he did not want to sleep anymore, Donnie resumed the arduous process- on his other hand, utterly frustrated and done with the last on his other- while the five that had been pressed against him resettled.

April again muttered something with concern. Donnie rumbled but did not resist as Leo began examining his resting hand.

“It looks fine,” he muttered, adding something he didn’t quite get. He lifted his shoulders in a shrug, rubbing Donnie’s arm for a few moments before turning back toward the others. He repeated, “It looks fine.”    

When Donnie started to work on the last claw on his right hand was when something said that he missed brought fear and anger into his nostrils. His tail flicked with irritation at the acrid scents, frequently connecting with Raph’s carapace until he, grumbling, inched forward. Despite his annoyance- pulsing fainter-, he lowered his head and nudged both Leo and Mikey, the two closest. All the dread and fear and umbrage was making Donnie uneasy and nervous, not including concerned.

“It’s okay.” Mikey reached over a troubled Leo to give Donnie a quick scratch(?)- they didn’t _really_ have nails- under his chin. And, while Donnie purred, he was far from reassured, seeing Leo’s brooding face and Raph’s glower and Mikey’s heavy eyes despite his smile; Splinter’s narrowed eyes and April’s slumped shoulders and Casey’s scowl.

Once Mikey had pulled away, Donnie didn’t end his purring, continuing more to comfort himself than to express pleasure.

 _What’s wrong_? Donnie wondered. _Why are they always so tense_?

 

 

 _I didn’t know it could get worse_.

Donnie grumbled, passing a hand over his snout. The foul stench impossibly exceeded yesterday's. What were they doing behind those big doors he was absolutely not allowed to enter?

Donnie took in a deep breath through his mouth, hauling himself to his feet and slinking as lightly as he could toward the “dojo” entrance. His cheek brushing the wall, he peered out and blinked in surprise. The common room was actually empty and silent.

Something was up for sure.

Still trying to remain unheard, he slithered down the steps and crept toward the doors, wrinkling his nose as the stench grew stronger. Breathing through his parted jaws, he tried once to nudge to doors open.

 _Surprise_.

They didn’t budge.

He butted it with his head, lightly. Then, once it failed, he pushed himself against the doors. He tumbled forward onto his side with a cry of dismay as someone opened them faster than he could move.

“Donnie!” Raph gave an exasperated huff. “You know—” He was interrupted by Donnie's excited crow as he caught sight of the interior of the room, his eyes set on a particular canister of bubbling liquid. Easily the source of the fetor.

But, as he went to shoulder his way in, he was shoved firmly back by Raph, who ignored his yelp and following whine of protest.

“Donnie, no,” Raph growled. “I…, if you knew what you were doing, you'd be so embarrassed.” Donnie was proud to know “embarrassed” and disregarded the rest of the sentence. He instead lifted his head, looking over the group. Mikey was absent and- who were _they?_

Strangers Donnie didn't know. As he bared his teeth and snarled, Raph gave him another shove. “Go back to the dojo.”

 _Why aren't they worried_? he thought, brushing off Raph's gruffness and taking a stiff-legged step forward. They're _intruders._

From somewhere came a noise of surprise from Mikey, but Donnie still hadn't expected his hand on his arm. Jerking, Donnie whipped his head right. Blinking, Mikey said something to Raph and then louder to him, “Come on, Donnie. You're making… look bad… in front of… well.”

Donnie huffed. _Fine_. _If they're not worried, why should I be?_ Despite the thought, severe suspicion still pricked his mind.  

Again in a sour mood, he snapped at Mikey when he pulled on his arm and stalked back to the dojo.

From behind him, he heard low murmuring and then Raph's, “I'm sorry!” and Mikey's footsteps as he followed.

He took the steps leading into the dojo in one bound and curled himself around the tree, proceeding to glower at the wall until Mikey entered.

“Everybody's in a bad mood,” Mikey told him, holding out a cautious hand. “It's not your fault.” He began stroking the bridge of Donnie's snout. Taking a deep breath- and grumbling once the the acrid scent entered his nostrils further- Donnie allowed himself to relax.

“It'll get better,” he promised, patting his head thrice before standing. “Don't let them get to you.”

Though Donnie understood the words, he didn't know the overall meaning of “get to you.”

  


“What do you think Donnie's doing right now?” Leo asked before reluctantly accepting the offered spoonful of thick, brown soup. He hummed. “That’s actually pretty good!” he said. “Just maybe add some more salt.”

“Not salt. I’m trying to stay away from salt,” Mikey replied. “I’ve already used a ton of salt. I’m trying to be more… _diverse_.” His eyes lit up as he uttered the last word. Then, twisting his mouth into a wry grin, he said, “Probably breathing down Splinter’s back while he meditates.”

Leo suppressed a shudder. “His breath is so cold. It’s usually warm so close, but his is just… _cold_.”

“Yeah,” Mikey muttered. He took another spoonful of the soup and added some seasoning that had no label. Shortly, after swallowing, he made a face and spat into the sink.

Leo suppressed an amused chuckle as he fished through their fridge for a bottle of water, tossing it to his flustered brother once found. He promptly took a swig, and, afterward, wiped his mouth on his arm.

“Bleh. That’s not going in there.”

“No?”

“Nah.”

“You should experiment like this more,” Leo said after a pause. “It really is good.”

Mikey grinned. “You think?”

Before Leo could respond, Raph came in. “Splinter wants us in the dojo.”

Leo asked, “Isn’t it a little late to train? It’s almost time for patrol.”

“He didn’t say anything about training.” Raph shrugged.

Briskly, Mikey turned off the stove and secured the pot’s lid before hurrying after his older brothers.

Splinter kneeled in the near center, with Donnie off a bit. He seemed about to slip into a doze, his eyes about closed and his head slowly sinking. Suddenly, he shifted, tucking his forelimbs under him and bringing his head up to chirr a thick, sleepy greeting. Then, appearing satisfied with their smiles, he went on nodding off.

Splinter stood, dragging his three attentive sons’ gaze to him. Letting out a soft sigh, he then asked, “You all have been quite cautious, yes?”

“Of course!” Mikey exclaimed.

“Muckman’s been trying to cover us again,” Leo added more solemnly. “It’s a bit harder this time because of Donnie,  he said, but he thinks he’s done it.”

He nodded, closing his eyes. After a moment, he said, “I want you to take Donatello with you on your patrol.” At his name, Donnie's head snapped up, his eyes wide.

“ _Donnie_?”

“Donatello,” Splinter agreed. “I have heard of your plans. Donatello may prove useful if he can recall the information,” he added. “Also, Donatello needs the exercise. He has been idle far too long.”

Protest was futile, they soon learned. Donnie was, without a doubt, coming with them.

They beckoned to their bewildered brother. Once he had approached, they set off toward the turnstiles after bidding their father a goodbye.

It took some coaxing to get Donnie passed the turnstiles, and then a lot more after to get him to follow them through the tunnels toward the rendezvous.

 

 

Donnie kept low, maneuvering himself as gracefully as he could manage within the confined and congested alleys. More than once had he considering balking at making the journey. But, with their faces ranging from grim determination to anxiety to faint hope, he didn’t think they needed his obstinacy as an obstacle.Curious was he too, to see where they were headed. Perhaps the trip would be worth the exertion.

They came to another dead-end, and, recalling past Leo’s dismay, Donnie hung back and waited for his brother to climb up.

Leo turned back and uttered something harsh, his eyes on the four others below him. Raph gave an angry retort, leaping up to meet Leo.

Donnie cocked his head, staring up with wide, concerned eyes. They always fought. Why did they fight so much? Why did the others just let it happen?

As Mikey interrupted them, Donnie blinked. Not this time, it seemed. Donnie fell to his haunches, observing silently. He suppressed the urge to unsheathe his talons and scrape them against the asphalt. Wherever they were headed, it was a place where he would need the acute edges to defend himself well. He couldn't fight with blunt claws. If it meant pain and discomfort to keep them completely tucked in, so be it.

At last, now with all five up, it was his turn.

Donnie hauled himself up, keeping his guttural noises of effort quiet as possible. It would be so much easier to leap, and this took so much more physical exertion and energy. But it was more silent, and Donnie remembered the first time he had scaled a roof.

Once on the roof, Donnie felt exposed. With prior experience, rightfully so. Donnie's plastron brushed and rubbed against the concrete as he crouched, looking for Leo or _someone_ to decide a direction. He swallowed thickly, pulling his tail closer, the tip of it flicking.

Donnie's head rose as he scanned the near area. Quickly, he noticed their eyes frequently wandering to a towering building of gray. He recognized it shortly to be the place from which he followed them home.

Was that where they were going? Donnie glanced down toward the humans below. It had to be, the way they were glowering. His patience at last worn, Donnie slipped around them and slithered into an alley sheltered by the buildings at all sides but one.

 “Let him,” he heard Leo murmur as they stared down at him. “It's better down there.” At the sight of their present apathy, Donnie rumbled and stretched out, careful not to graze his limbs once more against the asphalt.

Though, quickly, he was called back into reality, Casey nudging him with a foot. Donnie bared his teeth, swiping at him with yet sheathed claws and a growl, making quite sure he did not connect.  

“Donnie!” Leo's voice was sharp. Donnie flinched, turning to him a confused and hurt stare. The playful spark in his chest died.

“He was…!” Mikey exclaimed, using a word Donnie had never heard. Leo sighed, replying tolerantly.

Casey lightly punched Donnie's arm. “Later,” he murmured as Leo turned to speak to April.

Donnie growled, shouldering past them and hastily pulling himself up onto an adjacent roof, far more sheltered with a small, stone border surrounding the perimeter and a water tower. Raph chuckled as he turned around to stare down at them. Donnie snorted, swiveling and heading toward the water tower to investigate the strange, metallic scent emanated by it.

 

As Donnie stalked beside them, he tried searching for familiar buildings or alleys. None were found. _Maybe we're coming from a different way_?

As they neared, the fear-scent grew stronger, all amalgamating and melting together so Donnie couldn't distinguish any of the owners. He couldn't really understand their fear. For him, it had a more positive connotation.

“Donnie, stay,” Raph warned after sharing a glance with Leo. “We'll be back.” Donnie blinked. Why? He didn't want to be left alone! But he pressed himself against the roof as they left, trying to quash the anxiety churning in his stomach. He forced his breaths to remain even.

However, at last, his anxiety pushed him forward to peer over the edge. Below was his family. Warmth swelled in his chest before he ducked back to avoid being spotted.

 _They'd never leave me_. The thought elicited a purr from the large mutant. _Never_.

He was still caught in such hearty thoughts that, when Mikey came to retrieve him, Donnie crept up to him and pushed his head against his plastron, rumbling affectionately.

Mikey reacted with a mildly surprised, soft chuckle. “Hey, Don,” he murmured as he met Donnie’s head, placing his hands on his cheeks momentarily before pulling away. “C’mon. We gotta go.” Donnie fought down a noise of protest and followed his brother.

As they joined them, Leo put a finger to his lips and led them in. Donnie hesitated, huffed, and then squeezed through; it was not as tight as the other doorway.

Instantly, he was bombarded with a myriad of scents, a majority unfamiliar. The hazy stench of the city had almost been swallowed by the alien odors. Donnie halted abruptly, his nostrils flaring as he struggled to comprehend everything. Raph looked back at him. Donnie grimaced and pushed himself to creep forward, trying to block it all out. Too much.

Even for him, it was dark. Just… _dark_.  Shadows lurked and danced in the far corners and along the distant walls; shadows his eyesight couldn’t penetrate. He jerked with a shudder and darted forward, running into April as he glanced around uneasily.

Her arm shot out, steadying an unbalanced Casey as well as herself. She then turned and whispered, “Donnie?—Donnie, shh, it’s okay.” Reluctantly, she reached out and brushed his limb. He didn’t take too much notice, his head whipping forward as a particularly disturbing sound reverberated down the hall.

“God…” Leo breathed, looking back to them. “Is he okay?”

“I think he’s just…”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Mikey murmured in response, getting the word just fine. “It is…”

Donnie shook his head as the sound repeated. It wasn’t anything alive, he now realized, but a grating scrape. Leo, frowning, beckoned them onward. Donnie swallowed thickly and complied, though he felt better when Leo also offered him a reassuring smile and Casey gave him a glance with worry.

Upon reaching the end of the hall, April gave Donnie a small shove back. He was too alarmed to mind.

Those cloaked black things were _dead_ the last time Donnie was here, not patrolling and heaving crates on carts! And there weren’t so many… Did the zombies _repopulate_?

They weren’t of organic material. That Donnie could sense. The fact only added more to the uncanniness and to his fear. His breaths growing short and heavy, Donnie began to inch back.

“Oh—” Leo shouldered past them, coming to his brother. “Donnie,” Leo said,  “stay.” Leo gazed evenly into his eyes. “Stay.” Before Donnie could respond, he whirled around and gave some brisk orders. Very soon, Donnie was alone.

Donnie kept to the same spot, huddling there until the cries of battle broke out, and he scuttled back more.

 _Are they getting_ hurt?

Anger sparked in his chest at the idea. A sudden flow of courage pushed him forward, though he was startled by one of the cloaked monsters connecting by a very near wall. Donnie released a yelp, jerking right. Too late had he realized he had caught the attention of others, and he was not able to defend himself before one lashed out, striking Donnie’s snout with blunt force. Again, Donnie let out a cry, knocked into the other wall.

He fought to regain proper vision, shaking his head madly. Once he did, however, he froze in terror, rigid and wide-eyed. Since when did they boast multiple arms tipped with weapons?!

 As they lunged, Donnie's mind erupted with panic. Every instinct and muscle screamed at him to run, to dodge, to lash out, to just _do something_ \- but his body refused to respond accordingly.

“Donnie!” Three, strange, small weapons flew from nowhere, incapacitating the monsters before they had the chance to make a mark. Donnie jolted from his stupor, lurching back as they skidded toward him, sparking.  He released a shaky, hoarse exhale, looking up to see Raph dive back into the fight.

Leo’s cry drew his attention away from Raph, and Donnie bared his teeth at the sight. The monsters _were_ hurting them. Of course they were. They _were_ monsters. The surge of courage and fury returned with a fiery passion.

 _No_! The word exploded into his mind as he propelled himself forward. With a furious roar, Donnie reared back and brought his hands down, slamming them into the two stupid creatures who had been attempting to sneak up on Mikey. He whirled around with a suppressed noise of shock, utterly abandoning his attack on the three who had been facing him. Donnie shouldered Mikey away and swiped at the monsters.

“Donnie?” Mikey croaked, but the former was already bounding away to rend more.

He tried to focus on helping his family and not the burning lacerations being slashed into his flesh as he lashed out blindly, relying more on instinct than intellect to lead him to victory. The adrenaline and the rage churning in his stomach helped to fuel him, pushing him forward despite his injuries. But, at last, one particular wound sent him reeling back and _howling_ in his built-up agony.

He trembled in that spot, blood trailing down into his eyes so he could not see. Only when he heard a grunt and then his name being called did he try to wipe the blood from his eyes to recover his vision. He merely got one free, and he opened it promptly to see April standing over the creature.

“Donnie!” she repeated, coming over to him. “Are you okay?” Donnie whined and shook his head like he’d seen his family sometimes do, attempting to rub his other eye.

“Hold on,” she muttered, taking down two others before tearing some fabric from her sleeve and approaching him. He allowed her to swab the cut and wipe the less dry blood from his eye, hissing with the sting the former prompted.

He pulled away finally, content with the condition of his wound. The urge to fight and defend yet pulsed within him. But, then, Leo yelled over the din, and April called out to Donnie and managed to pull him back. But not before he lunged forward and destroyed multiple monsters.

Gently and cautiously, April once more reached out, pressing her index fingers and middle fingers onto his temple. Donnie immediately stiffened and stifled a growl. “It’s all right,” she promised, but Donnie knew what was coming and didn’t believe her.

Proving him right, the searing agony burst, perhaps less intense at once than last time, but steadily growing in severity. But, then… images began flashing in his mind, burning into his memory and escalating the anguish all at once. The last of his curiosity crushed, he wrenched away with a drawn-out, guttural cry, stumbling far back. His limbs gave out beneath him.

“Donnie.” Through the haze, he recognized Mikey’s scent and voice. “Donnie…” He felt his brother’s hands fall on his neck, bringing his head down. “Are you okay?”

 _Those words have been said too much tonight_ , Donnie thought, trying to even out his breaths.

Suddenly, Mikey’s presence vanished, for a moment, and Donnie heard a hiss. Then, as if he had never gone, he was back. Donnie forced his eyes open and blearily glanced left, catching sight of April swept up in battle. After a short second, he turned back to his brother and was concerned to see several bruises and small cuts. That’s what that smell was. Blood; irony, like raw meat, but more pure, distinct, and acrid.

As Mikey briskly looked over him, more than once gazing momentarily into his eyes, the images transferred by April relentlessly flickered into Donnie’s mind. He tried further to comprehend it all, his pupils dilating with the level of concentration.

He saw his brothers in nearly every one. Splinter sometimes. April and Casey too; the former was more frequent in the few captured moments. But, there was a fourth turtle-human, one he did not recogn-

 _What…_?

“Donnie, what’s wrong?”

He stared almost vacantly at the ground, the realization hitting him like a fierce blow.

_Oh, god…_

Donnie shot up, only half-acknowledging he had knocked Mikey aside. He staggered away, his legs still weak. His breaths were now ragged and guttural and _so wrong_ _he sounded like some_ animal. Looking down at his hands, smeared with red he did not know the origin of, he thought, _Maybe I am_.

“Donnie, what’s wrong?” Mikey demanded, though his voice wavered. 

“Mi-k _eee_ -” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor guy  
> too bad you can't feel sorry for him since everyone is so poorly written


	4. Understood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real Donnie comes back from vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA "The Em Dashes Take Over"
> 
> I'm not proud. This is my least favorite chapter.  
> Maybe the beginning pleases me, but I don't like the end. It drags. And it's boring.  
> But I can't look at it anymore.  
> Which means a lot of mistakes.

It was more of a snarl than any English Donnie had ever heard. He felt his face contort as he forced it through the barrier clogging his throat, and he hated it. He _loathed_ the manner with which he “spoke” and the way it made his little brother freeze and forget to breathe. All the anger only made the turmoil in his mind rage worse as the instincts fought to regain authority. Donnie clenched his teeth and shook his head madly, stumbling back and crashing into the wall. He voluntarily rammed his cranium into the stone, hoping far beyond reason that it would prompt momentary relief, but it instead nearly sent him over the edge. Donnie snapped his head up and released a howl of raw anguish.

“Oh, god, Donnie, stop!” Mikey cried, rushing over. “Donnie,” he said, softer, “stop it. Please calm down.” Mikey’s arms shot up, fighting to still Donnie’s thrashing head.  “ _Calm down_.” At last, he got some hold when he abandoned the prospect of being gentle. He held his head firmly, forcing him to meet his gaze. Despite being so much stronger than Mikey, he didn’t yank himself free like it seemed his brother anticipated. Something in Donnie just melted when he stared into Mikey’s eyes and saw his reflection and wondered briefly how Mikey could stare so evenly at something so _ugly_.

“Donnie,” Mikey went on, his voice strained with all the strength he was putting into holding Donnie’s head, “ _calm down_. I really doubt all that moving’s helping. Just lay down, take a deep breath, and relax.” His voice rose in a question, breaking eye contact to look at the battle raging beside them.  

“Everything will be just fine,” he said, bringing his gaze back to Donnie. “Just calm down.”

Donnie wanted so badly to comply and find a way to anchor himself. But he never gained enough mental footing, and he could hardly comprehend Mikey's words as everything in his head clashed.  

“Take a deep breath—” He couldn't relax. The animal, growing steadily more domineering, told him to do the opposite: rip himself away and ignore Mikey to jump back into the fight. It wasn't as though Mikey's fear scent was helping.

But he looked so determined…

Donnie shoved back the beast, asserting himself as well as he was able. If he let it win, then it would _shatter_ Mikey's heart— all of their hearts. They would be disappointed in him for being so weak and _hate_ him—

_What? No!_

The jolt of confusion allowed the animal to slither back in first with Donnie about to lose.

 _“_ Donnie, no!” Mikey clenched his teeth too.“Don't leave me— _us_.”  He jerked Donnie's head so he was once more staring directly at Mikey. “I've looked into confused animal eyes for too long. I'm not gonna let go of you without a fight.”

 _It's not your battle,_ Donnie's present sliver of conscious thought.

Suddenly, the animal made him wrench away with a growl, and Donnie almost slipped away completely.

“No, don't!” Mikey exclaimed, incapacitating the _Footbot_ before Donnie could lash out. “Donnie, _please_. You're stronger than it. You can fight it!” He clung to Donnie’s forelimb and gritted his teeth, glaring up at him. “You’re better than it.” His face then fell, and his grip strengthened. “Please,” he said for the umpteenth time, “we’ve missed you.”

Donnie wanted to scream his frustrations, that he was trying, _trying his hardest_ , as if that would help, but all that came out was a wordless roar.

“God.” Mikey's grip tightened to a point where it nearly hurt. Donnie whimpered, mustering enough willpower to relax in his touch despite the current roughness.

“Are you okay?” After a pause, Mikey led him away from the fight, into a corner. “Here.”

Donnie felt about as clear-headed as he did when he abruptly blasted back into the present. Better than very recently, perhaps, with Mikey so dogged next to him and the clamor of battle just a little quieter.

Now, Mikey wasn't helping the best, staring into Donnie's eyes. The animal wanted to purr and nuzzle him and show extreme, out-of-place affection. So Donnie broke away and gritted his teeth, hiding his face behind his massive hands and finally trying Mikey's advice, taking in deep inhales and releasing rather loud exhales that began to drone out the metallic, inhuman screeches.

Abruptly, Donnie shot up, disregarding the twinges of pain from everywhere on all limbs. His own panic flared, causing his heart to pound once more with the rush of anxious excitement. The claws that he had tucked in with much trouble now itched to unsheathe.

“Donnie?”

Donnie wanted to try to warn him, but he couldn't get his jaw to move correctly. The words died in his throat as the fresh wave surged in. A sea of ebony and a tangle of lethal instruments.

“Uh!” Mikey's head whipped back and forth, at last falling on his single super mutant brother. “Donnie, stay here.” As he whirled around, Donnie howled and lunged forward.

“It's okay!” Mikey gave him a quick push. “Just hold on. Hang in there. Don't fight, whatever you do.” He screwed up his face, alternating in between left and right as he jumped in place. He rephrased, “Don't fight if you don't have to.” With that, he vanished in the swarm.

Donnie swallowed another wail and huddled in the corner, one hand outstretched with his talons glinting, his teeth bared. His lip curled back farther when one oblivious Bot staggered close with its back to him. He arm impulsively reached out, but he drew it back just as quickly, much to the animal’s displeasure.

Donnie's head felt so jumbled, like five separate entities were bellowing orders over each other. A headache began throbbing behind his temple. Donnie pressed himself against the wall, unable to stop the deep growl from rumbling in his throat.

 _I can't just sit here_ , Donnie thought, his gaze flickering rapidly over the wave. Why did he ever think he could let them fight such a futile battle alone?

He took a step forward before he properly tensed his muscles and measured his leap— though it took longer than it should have— and pushed up.

Hissing at the jolt of the impact, his paws— or could they be considered hands?— slammed down squarely onto one Bot, and it was sparking and inactive before it cracked its robotic head on the concrete. Too hastily Donnie tried to yank away with a claw snagged in its fabric, and agony ripped through his limb. Roaring, he twisted and slashed into the torso of a Bot he assumed had scored a wound across the small area of his exposed flank. He snarled and lunged without so much as a pause. Another Footbot connected with the concrete with a muffled clang.

 _Don't leave us. You're stronger than it. You can fight it. You're better than it. Hang_ in there!

In Donnie's head, Mikey's voice rose in a wail.

 _We've_ _missed you_.

Painfully, Donnie managed to make himself back off, just for a moment. Long enough to recapture his wits and look at his claw. It was his center digit, and the talon had completely wrenched free. Awkwardly, he bowed his head to lap at it, but he winced and stopped once the pain flared. Black flickered in his peripheral vision. Instantly, his arm flashed out to swipe at the Footbot. He missed by a lot in his alarm, and an instrument sliced his wrist.

Donnie was losing again. He struggled through the haze, getting some gears in his head to spin. Fight he would, despite Mikey's pleas. But he would fight with intelligence and put calculations into his moves for the best possible outcome, ruled only a minimum by instincts. As much as he could, at least.

And, it seemed to be working. The beast yet persisted, and it did begin again to worm its way back to the top. But it was eventual— slow. Donnie was still well half in control as he swiped and avoided the best he could manage. Perhaps, though, he _did_ get carried away…

His lips were twisted into a snarl as his gaze raked over the room. All were dead, as he saw. Good. Donnie allowed himself to begin panting, though it did little to relieve the uncomfortable warmth.

“How did we ever get them all?” Donnie could indistinctly, faintly understand.

“Donnie.”

“ _No_!”

Donnie blinked down at Mikey in surprise as he howled. Why was he upset? Donnie didn’t do anything wrong, did he?  

“What—”

“He was _there_.” Mikey looked close to tears. “Donnie was there and he _talked to me_ and—I-I _told_ him not to fight—”

A short silence followed after  Mikey’s jumbled words broke off as he fiercely rubbed his face. After another moment, Raph looked up at him and hoarsely echoed, “Talked?”

 _I talked_?

The pain that swelled in his chest as they stared at him with so much distress could not compare to every wound he bore outside. A wail rose in Donnie’s throat. Why were they looking at him like that?

“Stop it!” he wanted to cry, but nothing articulate resulted. Were they lying? Mikey claimed he had spoken. _When_? When he had spoken? He had no memory of it. No hold on any of the moments Mikey had described.

Hold on. That sounded familiar—

 _Just hold on_.

Donnie clenched his eyes shut and grimaced, baring his teeth. His wounds seemed to burst to life suddenly with new, biting, stinging fury. His limbs buckled, and he crashed to the ground. He buried his face in his arms.

How?

How could he?

How could he have slipped so easily? Let it win so quietly without him even noticing?

Without Donnie's consent, a low, mournful noise escaped his throat.

Their concerned murmurs came into focus as Donnie struggled enough out of the guilt to take note of his surroundings. He lifted his head to peer at them. With another sharp pang of regret, he realized they were speaking as though he was some dull animal.

But Donnie was _more_ than that.

Donnie hauled himself to his haunches laboriously, grunting with the effort. Everything burned or ached.

“Lay down, Donnie,” Leo muttered. “You're hurt.” Donnie wanted so badly to reply, to say _something_ remotely intelligible, but his jaw refused to move properly, and his tongue felt thick, and the blockade in his throat would not yield. The resulting noise was a strange, guttural one that distorted his already deformed face. Hastily, Donnie slid down and hid his head under his arms before he could see their bewildered reactions.

He trembled. _Why can't I talk now_? He grimaced and braced himself for a sob, but it never came.

Now it was anger that clouded his mind. The mutagen had robbed him of the ability to shed tears in response to emotional stimulation. One of the few things that was absolutely human about him and his brothers— and it had been stolen from him. He _was_ nothing more than an animal.

Donnie swallowed the rising cry of distress and shifted his head to gaze at them forlornly, at least trying to express _some_ intelligence in his eyes.

“See?” Mikey's excited voice startled him. He fell onto his hands-and-knees, beaming. “I told you he talked!”

“We never said he didn't.” April's voice, in comparison, was soft and thoughtful. She reached out but paused, glancing at him. She seemed to be asking for _permission_ to touch him. A twinge of distrust and fear from the animal confused him further.

After a moment, she hesitantly continued and brushed his arm while Raph said, “All he did was move his mouth weird.” Despite his tone, Donnie knew Raph wanted to believe that he was still in there and was present.

“Yeah,” said Mikey, “that was him trying.” He turned to him. “Right, Donnie?” With nothing else he could think to do, Donnie nodded, averting their gaze and examining his wrenched claw. It stung like fury.

“Wait,” Leo muttered. “Wait, wait, wait, wait…” He furrowed his brows. “Donnie,” he said slowly, articulating distinctly every syllable, “do you understand?” _Yes_. Again, he nodded.

Leo froze, his eyes momentarily clouding as though he were presently recalling some event. “Donnie.” His voice was little more than a weak whisper. He reached out, but he sharply drew his arm back before Donnie could react. “You're there,” he breathed. “Y-You’re _Donnie_.” Donnie's frown grew, and he tilted his head as he looked over Leo. He wished he understood what his brother was thinking, or had the strength to even begin trying to think beyond “he's not okay.”

The awkward embraces and overjoyed cries came after the immediate shock. Donnie soaked it up, drinking in their warm, familiar scents. Now, he couldn't help the purrs. As long he kept himself rooted and dominant, it was okay, he decided.

When he felt he was too vulnerable, Donnie heaved himself into a crouch, panting. Casey yet pressed himself against his right forelimb, and Mikey kneeled by his other.

“Why... arrre… we… herrre?” His voice was thick and guttural and utterly unable to be understood, as far as he was concerned. The last word trailed off and devolved into an inarticulate growl. But, he had managed. It distorted his face and sent painful spikes stabbing his throat. It probably wasn't worth it. Judging by their faces, they had no idea what he had tried to ask. Casey's grip on his lower arm tightened.

After a long moment, April quietly repeated, “‘Why are we here?’” and, when Donnie's face lit up, she smiled and said it again, louder.

“For you,” Raph said promptly. Leo elaborated.

“Do you remember why we came here the first time?” _To prevent mutagen trafficking_. But he did not dare try to say it aloud.

Leo nodded slightly, his gaze intense and his eyes gleaming. Donnie bit back a growl when he saw his reflection once more and forced himself to continue meeting his eyes evenly.

“Like Raph said,” he went on softly, “we came for you. Rockwell and Mr. O’Neil say they might be able to get farther with mutagen.” His eyes then narrowed.

“A blood sample too. But you wouldn't let anyone get close with that needle,” Mikey added. Casey's grip tightened more.

“Oh,” Donnie wanted to murmur, but not enough effort went into it, and it was instead a hoarse croak. He didn't quite know what they meant, but it was safe to assume Rockwell and Mr. O’Neil were collaborating to create some retro-mutagen. Faintly, faintly, Donnie recalled some burning malodor and an expression of disgust.

“But,” Raph then began, “you're hurt—”

          “We're _all_ hurt,” Mikey interrupted.

“— _and_ we probably just need to go home.”

Donnie looked them over more thoroughly and narrowed his eyes. He very strongly desired to go on, but their injuries were concerning. Sure, they may not suffer exsanguination, but those wounds could easily get infected. Infections and fevers were not something they really needed— ever needed.  While lost in thought, Donnie absently began lapping at his toe.

“Donnie—” Leo had been approaching, but he froze at the sight of blood. “Oh, god…” Donnie flinched and lowered his arm, grimacing at the sight of the more clear, exposed quick. Unless they all wanted infections, they'd need to go home promptly.

“We need to go back to the lair,” April voiced his thoughts. “Now.”

Leo released a sigh through his nostrils. “We were so close.” His voice was soft.

“How about we go with stealth next time?”April replied.

“We would've, but Donnie…”

He couldn't help a snort, and he twisted to give the quick a few more licks before turning to Casey. He was too quiet, Donnie figured.

His lips were pressed into a thin scowl, and he stared unhappily into the distance. Then, suddenly, he bared his teeth and tilted his head downward. Sharp concern pulsed through Donnie, and he angled his head and pressed his nose to the small slice of Casey's exposed neck.

The boy jerked at the contact, drawing his lips back. He searched Donnie's eyes for a long moment. Then, he blinked and softened his features. He proceeded to lie his cheek on Donnie's arm for a few seconds before pulling away and resuming his glare, now fixed on Leo. “Where else are we gonna get mutagen?” He leaned forward. “They _have_ to move their supply now after two attacks.”

Leo shook his head. “We'll find somewhere.”

“We have to!” Mikey insisted.

Donnie raised his arm once more but halted. He couldn't shake the feeling that this mission's failure was his fault. _We're_ all _injured,_ he thought. But had he influenced the decision more? Would Leo have opted to keep on going if Donnie weren't here? When he met Leo's eyes, all he saw was overwhelming pity and disappointment.  “It'll be okay,” Leo muttered.

Donnie blinked and turned his gaze away. After a moment of shoving away his frustration and the urge to growl, which failed, he heaved himself to his feet and staggered forward, curling the tip of his tail as a way to beckon them.

“Okay.” Leo's voice was soft and soothing. But more anger swept over Donnie. Leo was talking to him as though Donnie was an incompetent animal!

B-But that was okay. He had gotten accustomed to talking to an animal. He’d start regarding him normally soon.

He pressed the furious surge down, flinching at the twinge of animalistic instinct as the beast was tempted out by the distracting, strong emotion. The inclinations were like a case of tinnitus, constant and grating.

Leo had trotted up to him, but now he seemed shocked and wary at the anger he must've sensed or seen in Donnie's eyes.

Donnie took in a deep breath and blinked, mustering some of the last dregs of his willpower to crush the unpleasant emotion. It was _not_ Leo’s fault, and he had no right to be upset. He struggled to convince himself as he lowered his head and emitted a soft noise.

Now that every last motivating flare of adrenaline had gone out, his entire body ached, and his muscles shrieked with every moment and every laceration bit with near-impossible rage. He was tired of his slow mind and the persisting war in his head. He was… _tired._ All he wanted was to sleep.

Donnie's eyes flashed open, and he released a similar moan as he properly comprehended the upcoming trudge home.

“Hey, are you gonna be okay?” Raph muttered as someone brushed up against one of his forelimbs. He reached out, pressing his palm to his arm. Raph's brows were furrowed— all of their faces were creased. Donnie shook his head softly but then halted. He raised his head, butted Raph's hand as some way of reassuring him that Donnie would make it home alive, and took some more steps forward.

“All right,” Mikey said, “we're coming.”

Leo led the way out. Donnie paused momentarily and let out an apologetic trill, directed at him, but, if he understood, he showed no signs.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's back.


	5. Please?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The instincts make Donnie think he wants to be a ratter when he grows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present to you 20 pages of trash.  
> Still not proud. I'm more uncertain. One very big, specific scene *cough* pleases me, but I don't know how well it flows or how much anyone will like it.  
> Again, though, I can't stand to look at it anymore.

Donnie let out something like a gasp as his arm gave out. He scrabbled frantically with the other, the jolt of terror granting him the will to fling his weak limb back up and haul himself to the roof.

This was the second time it had done this. The first time, he had cracked his skull on the concrete floor. The impact had knocked the breath from his lungs and rendered him utterly dazed and likely even duller. He completely relied on his family to lead him. With an inward chuckle, Donnie thought it must be like taking his animal self home all over again.

And, then, Donnie flinched. Why would he laugh at that?

God, he was out of it.

“—okay?”

Donnie cast his gaze to April, tipping his head left. Only able to guess what she had said, Donnie nodded. Though, he supposed, with their increased frowns, it may have just seemed like he had about drifted off.

Great.

Before he fell victim to the growing haze, Donnie forced himself to stand and shake. A particular wound on his shoulder twinged distinctively among the typical stinging, and he bit back a yelp. Instead, he winced and began desperately trying to crane his head back to ease the laceration.

“He’s… obviously fine,” Mikey said, looking up at him.

“I _am_ fine,” he attempted, but all that resulted was an inarticulate growl. Donnie flinched, blinked rapidly, and shook his head, turning away from them.

Raph’s touch was gentle against his bicep. “Over there. Straight across,” he murmured, holding out his arm. Donnie stiffened, shortly looking at him with eyes haunted by gloom. “It’s _fine_ , Donnie. Hurry up.”

He swallowed thickly and limped forward before Raph could register the hurt that must’ve flashed in his eyes. He tottered on the edge of the roof for a moment before practically falling into the alley.

He hissed under his breath, not bothering to pick himself up. That had _really_ upset his wounds and the abrasions forming on his… palms? He turned his hand. There were delicate areas that stuck above the thin scales that perhaps looked like the pads of a typical quadruped. Donnie didn’t really know how to refer to the terminal part of his limb. It wasn’t quite prehensile, but it also didn’t resemble a typical paw too much...

Ugh. All that sophisticated thinking was making his brain hurt. He’d ponder again when he had slept and had energy to spare.

Donnie never thought there’d be a day that he’d have to admit such a dreadful notion.

He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily before inclining his head in time to see his brothers and April leap across the gap nimbly.

It wasn’t _fair_. Donnie drew his lip back. He should be— _deserved_ to be— up there with them, not trapped in an alley and, even worse, the body of a blundering monster. His claws unsheathed and scraped the concrete, and he didn’t even bother trying to stop them.

But most his anger melted away when April appeared. As Donnie laboriously stood, she said, “Across again. You’ll be down there for a little bit. We’re trying to figure the way with the less risk.” When Donnie’s brows furrowed, she added, “The other alley has more room.” He couldn’t oppose the idea of more space, so he hoisted himself up to join them— Leo, Raph, Mikey, and April. Casey had to go home “if he wanted to come back.” The statement was oddly familiar. He disregarded it for now and hurried with his limp to the designated alley.

Once he reached the edge, he tried to slip down with much more grace. Already, the alley had plenty more room. He settled with a quiet sigh.

Then, his attention was drawn to scuffling in the far corner. Among the shadows, Donnie distinguished a large gray-black rat. It was an ordinary sight in New York City, and Donnie couldn't understand why he was so transfixed. It was just an average rat.

But, then, his mouth dared water at the sight. It was pretty big, even for the standard rat. And… it seemed to not mind his presence. It would be easy to--

 _No_!

Donnie flinched and crouched, trembling. What was _wrong_ with him? His father was a rat on some level and _god_ this just further proved he was nothing more than an animal.

Despite his fierce efforts, his gaze fell again on the creature. The poor thing. Why hadn't it scurried away yet? Surely his sharp movements had startled it. But, then again, urban rats were bold. He inched toward it.

He observed silently as it nosed around a lone trash bag. Its complete attention was set on finding some source of sustenance.

Donnie quieted his breaths, and his drowsiness was swept away as he slowly advanced a few more steps.

It would be quick. He could pounce and dispatch it by snapping its vertebrate before it could squeak or even comprehend what had happened. His sheer abrupt weight would do it for him.

He slithered forward and stilled his flicking tail.

They hadn't been feeding him enough either. Donnie didn't fault them. They had no way to know. But the food they presented was old and cold and far from fresh. This would be delightfully warm and savory and would sing on his tongue. A sudden change in the wind brought the creature's scent straight toward him, allowing Donnie to even better inhale the delectable aroma—

Something in Donnie snapped, and, before he could register what _exactly_ was occurring, the rat’s squeal was cut off abruptly, and it lay there under his remaining talons, its back horribly distorted in an arch with two vertebrae distinctly protruding unnaturally from its flesh.

As Donnie stared down at it, the full reality slammed into him.

 _No no no no no no no_ —

He withdrew swiftly, his steps unsteady. His mind was swamped with remorse and revulsion and raw _guilt_ and _horror._

He could only just swallow a howl. If he did, then they would know for sure something had happened and they could _not_ know about this—

“Donnie?”

He whipped around, hastily backing toward the body and concealing it with his tail. He fought to keep himself from trembling as he stared up at Leo.

His big brother frowned. “Are you okay?”

Donnie nodded promptly, though he regretted the intensity with which he had done so when his head throbbed.

“Okay?” Concern now gleamed in his eyes. “Uh, not much longer now.” He tilted his head. “I thought I heard a weird noise. Are you _sure_ you're okay?”

Donnie again nodded, trying to keep his desperation out of the gesture.

“Okay…” Leo's eyes narrowed before he vanished.

Donnie let out a hoarse, shaky exhale, turning back to the rat.

What was he going to do with it? Could he really just leave it here to rot?

 _No,_ he told himself, _some other animal will come by and eat it_.

But...was leaving it the right thing? The best thing? Best, as in the noblest manner with which to deal with the situation? It just didn't feel _right_ to leave it untouched. If he ate it, he could paste a proper reason for it to have given its life, and it would clear his conscious on some level.

Donnie, _him_ , _himself,_ not the animal, still despised the very notion. Despite it, he took one look around before bowing his head.

Self-loathing and disgust churned in his stomach. _Are you happy_? he thought, directed at the horrible beast that continued to rule him.

Donnie _hated_ to admit it, but the flesh was so ambrosial and delicious and _good_. The idea made him feel _horrible_ and resulted in the negative feelings clutching his body intensifying.

And, at some point within the mess of hatred, Donnie had finished the rat. It had taken two bites.

It was like a heavy stone in his stomach that weighed him down. Despite the heaven his taste buds stubbornly persisted in, it all made him feel sick, and the earth swayed beneath him.

He just killed and ate a rat.

He killed it with his own deformed ha-paws. _Paws_. He was an animal. He didn't deserve such an advanced title. Not in the least.

Donnie didn't think he could ever look Splinter in the eye again. He bared his teeth.

 _It's not like he ever pays me any attention anyway_. In the inferno of self-hatred, a flame of bitterness sparked.

As far as he was concerned, Donnie was just a walking, breathing disappointment. He probably felt even more disdain now since Donnie was dumb enough to go get himself turned into a monster. He couldn't remember the last time his father even personally spoke to _just_ him or looked at him with something close to sincere affection.

Did Splinter even _care_?

Donnie shook himself fiercely. He needed back up there with his family. Much longer down in the alley and Donnie would snap again.

 

When Donnie pulled himself up, Mikey took immediate notice of the sharp, almost tangible pulses of unhappiness he emanated. As they began to walk further, he observed as Donnie frequently paused as his body was taken over by some strong emotion. He would tense, agony flaring in otherwise drained eyes, and take a deep breath before pushing onward.

Mikey, at last, dropped back to match his brother's pace. He listed and gently brushed his arm with his own. “Hey,” he murmured, “you're hurting, aren't you?” Alarm, sudden and bright, flashed in Donnie's eyes, and he vigorously swung his head before wincing.

Mikey bit back a sigh. What was so horrible about admitting you were in pain when you were _very_ clearly hurt? Why was pride so important?

He reached out and gently swatted his arm. _Dummy_ , he thought affectionately. Donnie flinched and directed himself a bit away. The anguish that had planted itself in his eyes seemed to go a bit deeper than physical…

And, then, Mikey could have hit himself. Of course! Of course… Donnie had every right to be upset. He had lost his mind for a good two weeks and, as far as he could assume, behaved like an absolute animal. Then, they failed to get some precious substance that would grant him his normal self.

Mikey frowned and shot Donnie an apologetic glance. The least he could do was keep pace and walk with his brother, unlike the others. He again went to brush his arm. “I’m sorry,” Mikey whispered.

Donnie halted, slowly raising his formerly bowed head. After a second, his lip turned upward in a small, frail, half-hearted smile. He took one step toward Mikey, inhaled deeply, and went to press his nose to his shoulder.

But, then, he jerked himself back, the grief in his eyes renewing with more intensity than ever. His face contorted in a grimace, and he ducked his head and shook himself. He avoided Mikey's outstretched hand and prepared to hobble after the others, who had paused at the edge of the roof, observing silently.

“Donnie— Donnie, _wait_.” Mikey hurried after him, struggling to keep up—despite his limp, his long limbs and determination to escape him kept him ahead. Mikey shot his family a face of exasperation before he put his one last surge of energy into lunging forward and clutching his brother's arm. Only then did he stop, turning his head to give Mikey a dull, sullen look.

“Donnie, it's fine. It's okay.” Mikey tightened his grip, and Donnie's tensed muscles seemed to relax a bit.

“It's okay, as long as you… you're…” He paused, searching for the right words. “It's fine,” he started again, “as long as you're still _Donnie_.”

For some reason, Donnie melted at that, letting out a series of soft, short exhales that could be taken as a kind of laughter. When he raised his head, fresh warmth overpowered everything in his eyes and made them glow. Now that they weren't brimming with strong evidence of his lack of rule, Mikey thought they were brilliant— a startling baby blue, riddled with veins of every other shade of blue imaginable, a flare of the lightest azure surrounding his almond-shaped pupils that were presently narrowed in affection. At last, he allowed himself to fondle his little brother.

Then he limped away after a final look, a haze dimming the shine in his eyes.

“Whoa,” Raph murmured. Then, only a little louder, he said, “Come look at _this_.”

Many figures dressed in black and wreathed in shadows darted among the umbras, a darker mass tucked under their arms. From fissures, they could see a green-blue glow illuminating the inside of the crates.

“Mutagen?” Mikey muttered. He narrowed his eyes. “Are they taking it _out_ of the van or putting it in?” Truly, the scene below was hectic.

“I don't know.” Leo gave them a swift, sideways glance. “But it's _mutagen._ We need it.”

“And, anyway,” Raph added, “they're probably not gonna do good with it.”

Leo nodded and then gazed over. “April?”

“Maybe,” she muttered absently, her more complete attention on the people. She gripped the edge so tightly her knuckles were white.

Leo blinked and crawled closer to his brother who rested a little off. “Donnie, what do you think?”

But Donnie had been swept up and stolen by the haze, and he didn't even respond in the slightest way. Leo turned to give the others a concerned glance. And, then, he reached out and pressed his palm to Donnie's neck and repeated his name.

This time, he jerked, blinking rapidly and shaking his head. He turned back toward Leo, his head tipping, already being reclaimed.

“Donnie,” Leo said briskly, “do you think we should fight?” Donnie's arms moved strangely, and he stared at the ground momentarily, something like disappointment and confusion in his eyes, before his jaws parted in a massive yawn, revealing well his long, acute, pearly white ivories, a strikingly pink tongue, and, at least, his familiar, distinct tooth gap.

It had seemed like an attempt to shrug, and, in that case, Donnie had no present valuable input. It puzzled Leo. He was certain it wasn't any bestial instinct clouding his mind; Donnie was tired. They all were, definitely. But why could he just barely function? His lethargy was on and off, and Leo didn’t understand, really.

But he knew that those people needed to be stopped.

And, maybe, his team could benefit beyond the excellent sense of justice.

“O-Okay, Donnie, okay. Stay here, all right? We’ll be back.” Donnie gave him a faintly disturbed look, and he opened his jaw like he was going to speak. But he succumbed to another yawn before he could even attempt, and Leo waved the rest off.

The urge to lay his heavy head down was overwhelming, and, for just a second, Donnie did just that. But he dragged himself out of the appealing, tempting corner of unconsciousness that called his name and offered peace.

Leo had gone— they’d all gone. Donnie’s eyes narrowed. Did they expect him to not notice? All he had done was yawn and drift off momentarily. His frustration with Leo renewed, and a huff escaped him. As his head cleared, the sounds of a scuffle, at last, reached him. _So that’s where they’ve gone_.

He struggled to his feet and crept forward, peering over the edge to investigate the noises of battle. As soon as he came to the brink, the cries cut off abruptly.

An unmasked man stood erect alone in the center of the alley. His skin was stark against the dark material, his cheeks flushed. His yellow teeth were bared, and his words were so slurred and emotional Donnie couldn’t begin to comprehend. Judging by his face, the words were far from pleasant.

His face screwed up especially ugly then, and his voice rose in a strident, raucous tone. Ow.

April darted forward and delivered a roundhouse kick, ending his monologue suddenly. The human was forced back, and he let out one cry, twitched, and then lay still.

Donnie leaned forward as admiration for the girl fought past the dominant weariness. She improved so quickly it was almost absurd. At least his Sensei had found a more suitable, able student to take his place.

The pain that clenched Donnie’s heart was nothing he had ever expected. He swayed and tipped forward.

He broke out of his state with a yelp, and he frantically scrabbled backward. He heard several of them call, but he didn’t acknowledge them, now trembling in a hunch.

God. He was bleeding. From several wounds now that had just ceased. And his pads were bleeding now too, the lesions at last pushed past their point. They stung so badly and _ugh_ he just wanted to sleep.

He winced. It was getting worse. He dipped his head and started to rasp his tongue over the abrasions, just trying to soothe them. And, also, it did bring him some comfort, which was quite welcome.

Donnie felt like he’d never want to go on patrol again. Certainly not in this form, and very much not in his… his _normal_ body.

Never again.

“Dude.” Donnie looked up briefly as Mikey trotted up to him. He fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around Donnie’s neck. “You _really_ need to keep away from roof edges.”

Donnie paused, staring at the concrete for a moment before twisting to rest his head on Mikey’s side. Quickly, though, he shakily rose. The contact was wonderful and nice —oh so nice—but it brought the sleepiness crashing back, and that was not a place he wanted to return to yet. It made them assume he was brain-dead; Donnie didn’t need that.

Looking over, the other three had joined them. They seemed reassured by his reaction to Mikey and didn’t ask. April held a canister of mutagen, a little more than a quarter full. Leo saw his gaze on the container and said, “Uh, that’s all we recovered. They actually kind of got away with a lot of it, and, uh, the rest of the stuff in the crates they left was just full of old junk from that warehouse. But, I think it’ll do.”

“Maybe,” Donnie wanted to add. He didn’t know if it’d be enough. But he was so tired all he could muster the will to feel was hope.

Splinter stood expectantly when they returned. His pricked ears flattened quickly as he spied his bedraggled sons. Raph held up the result of their effort, with a weary, forced, lop-sided grin. His arm shook, and it fell. Leo grimaced at the pathetic sight, and Donatello seemed asleep on his feet. Mikey clutched one arm and immediately pushed past the turnstiles. Raph followed, and, after rousing Donnie, Leo followed suit.

But Donatello stared in dismay at the turnstiles. Reluctantly, he tried delicately stepping over them, but he tripped just like the very first time, except he didn’t get up. Leo huffed and turned back. When he extended a hand, however, Donatello’s lip drew back, and a growl swelled in his throat. Leo withdrew quickly, and, as Donnie settled, he looked back to them with clear hurt in his eyes.

“Let him,” Raph grumbled. “We’ll get him up later.” Leo gave Donnie one last upset glance before complying.

“Is Donatello all right?” Splinter’s voice was soft.

“I… I think. He’s really tired and hurt.”

“We all are,” Mikey muttered again.

Splinter's gaze fell to his son's injured arm. “Yes, I can see that.” He lowered himself into a kneel, gently taking the limb. To the two others, he said, “Please try to bring Donatello over here.”

As they limped toward their brother, Mikey said, “It just started hurting really bad. I don't know why it did now and not before.”

After a few moments, he began biting his lip. Then, shortly, he leaned forward. “Sensei?” When Splinter glanced up, he continued. “April got Donnie back... Sensei, that's _our_ Donnie.”

He paused, his hands hovering over the wound. He gave Michelangelo a long, searching look before bringing his attention to his three sons. Donatello had brought his head up, and his gaze was on Raph.

“Donnie, please.” Leo crouched. “Sensei asked for you.”

At that, Donatello's eyes lit up in something like panic, and his scrabbling, backward movements toward the turnstiles were almost desperate.

Raph said, “What is wrong with you now? It's just Splinter. He's not gonna bite your head off.” Donnie lurched forward painfully as though some extreme force had managed a blow to his stomach.

Splinter's ears completely pressed to his skull. “Do you know what has Donatello upset?”

“I…” Mikey seemed confused. “I thought it was the obvious 'I lost my mind and acted like an animal,' but I don't why that'd upset him so much when you're mentioned.”

Splinter almost stood, gave the injury on Mikey's arm one look, and then settled. The flesh was raw and angry around the open gash, and it needed prompt tending to. As soon as Donatello at last succumbed.

Glancing over, he was in time to see his double-mutated son climb to his feet with a grunt, baring his teeth. His other two children stuck by their brother as he picked his way over painfully.

Immediately, Splinter noted Donatello was deliberately avoiding his gaze. Gingerly, he released Mikey's arm and moved to him, softly murmuring, “Donnie?” He was taken aback by the bitterness that gleamed in his son's eyes, and his hand recoiled. Donatello hadn't met his gaze, but he glowered at Splinter's chest. Then, for the barest moment, he eyes darted up. And then the contact was gone. But his features had softened, and he squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. His claws scraped against the ground, and, when Splinter glanced downward, surprise flickered in his chest.

The sight pushed him to put the idea “they need medical attention” into motion. He silently assessed them and determined Michelangelo needed attention first, then Leonardo, Donatello, and Raphael.

“Set the canister down, Raphael. I will store it later.”

He expected some retort, but Raph obeyed without even a noise of complaint.

On the contrary, Donatello did _not_ want to rise, and, when he finally did, it was after a series of frustrated, angry snorts and huffs.

If his son was present, he would need a stronger filter and more control. Splinter would have a talk with him and perhaps find some advice to offer.

But only after he discovered the source of Donatello’s fear and anger, or it at least calmed.

 

Donatello's mind was a muzzy mess of anger and pain and animalistic desire and self-hatred and guilt and so much more pain. He had had clear moments, but, at this point, he was actually asleep on his feet.

He knew they'd make him stay up, and it made him angry. Why couldn't they just let him sleep?

He stumbled going up the dojo steps.

Sleep was all he wanted. Relief from the pain came second. He was convinced he would kill to get an hour of rest.

Donnie could only make it as far as the tree before his limbs gave out and he collapsed, and he had only been driven by will kindled by some inclination.

Like he had anticipated, his older brothers came over, quietly asking him to stay awake. He thought he owed them something for all they'd done tonight, so he didn’t snap at them.

But he wanted Mikey too. Where was Mikey? He twisted, searching for him. But he grew tired, and his head fell once more. His chin rested on his paws.

God, he was tired.

He yearned for his bed like never before. His warm, soft, comfy bed. But the floor seemed pretty comfy right now too. He'd have to tolerate the floor tonight. It could be worse. The mats took the edge off of the cold stone. And… he didn't feel like coming up with any other reason. It was as good as he'd get for a while now.

Donnie drifted off further for a while. His brothers roused him often, and it jolted Donnie out the haze for a moment before he slipped away again. It was an unbroken cycle until it was his turn and Splinter's unexpected touch sent him jerking away.

His broad, fur-coated face and wide, concerned brown eyes upset the peaceful daze into which Donnie had retreated. The remorse crashed back down with all the force from before— even more, with his rat father right in front of him.

“Donatello,” he said, though the former scarcely heard. “I must tend to your wounds.” He came closer despite Donnie's whine. Quieter, he said, “I do not know why you are so frightened of me, but I promise I only wish to help you.”

His hands were gentle, lightly skimming over the injuries he found. But Donnie still shuddered. _What if he knew_? he thought in cadence. _What if knew_? _What if he knew_?

“Donatello,” he at last consulted. “Are you all right? I am not hurting you, am I?” Donnie trembled, and Splinter sighed.

A soft palm pressing against his neck alarmed him, and he jumped once more, huffing hoarsely.

It was as though the contact allowed Splinter's own injury to seep through his fingertips and overwhelm an already exhausted and disheartened Donnie. Did he really care so much if his least favorite son was injured or anxious?

Donnie was even more perplexed when Splinter began to gingerly stroke his neck. Raising his gaze momentarily, he caught the frown of genuine concern.

At this, Splinter went back to his injuries, leaving Donnie to wonder why his father only now chose to show a scrap of consideration for him.

There was a scuffling and a lack of physical contact. Something rustled. And, then, the sensation of fresh pain swept over him.

Donnie froze, tensed, and grunted. Splinter paused, muttering a quiet apology before resuming.

The pain dulled as he grew accustomed to rhythmic movements. He managed to relieve his fiery muscles a little bit.

And, at some point, Donnie slipped away into blissful unconsciousness, free from the agonizing, strong emotions and the horrible, horrible instincts that made him slaughter a poor, poor rat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bad donnie
> 
> guys, i'm sorry  
> i needed some kind of big way to express that he's not all there


	6. You Okay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An important lesson is learned: under no circumstances should burnt hamburger be eaten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI HELLO LOOK
> 
> I have no excuse beyond lack of will. Whatever this is, it's a little above 16,000 words and drawn-out. Meant to be longer, but I had to cut it short. Not too content with it either, but it's dONE! A bit is from late May and June, and, while I tried refining it as much as possible, it's particularly far from perfect. 
> 
> Real quickly I wanna give a shout-out to Gogreendreamer123 on DeviantArt for being an awesome friend and completing two relevant commissions surrounding a fandom she was clueless about. She's such a nice person and super friendly so please! go check her out if you want
> 
> https://gogreendreamer123.deviantart.com/art/Commission-I-Beat-Them-All-712166800  
> https://gogreendreamer123.deviantart.com/art/Comm-Donnie-No-711384533

When Donnie woke up the next afternoon, he had no idea where he could have gotten so many wounds.

What was the black thread laced here and there?

Why was his paw wrapped up?

He tried to rise far too quickly, and searing, hot pain shot his senses. A sharp cry tore from his throat, and a powerful shudder racked his body. He slid back down, his breaths quick and hoarse. He was so caught up in the surprising flurry of agony that he hadn't detected Mikey's approach, and he only noticed his little brother when he said, “Donnie, you okay?”

Donnie, after jumping a bit, turned to him, whimpering. Maybe he could try to tell him what happened.

But Mikey's face was expectant, like he was actually anticipating some answer to the prompt. When he failed to deliver— Donnie didn't know _how_ —, Mikey's expression turned to confusion and other indiscernible emotions Donnie couldn't put a name to. He knew they were negative. His steadily increasing concern couldn’t be put together with a simple emotion like happy.

“Donnie?” he then said, his stare probing. Quieter, he demanded, “Stop it. It’s not funny.”

 _What_? More whimpers came from him, and he extended his unwrapped paw. What was he talking about? Why wouldn’t he just come over and help him?

Mikey’s glower lingered for a moment longer before an extreme emotion flooded his gaze. “Oh, no...” he muttered, his voice wavering. His eyes grew lustrous, his stern face falling. “ _No_!” The word ripped from his throat as he doubled over. Then, he whipped around and took off out of the dojo, flying down the steps.

Donnie howled after him and tried again to stand and pursue him. He stumbled with a yelp, followed by a drawn-out whimper, and then a growl. Donnie stretched his head back, snapping at the black thread woven into his flesh. He succeeded, and he pulled the strand, taking quite a bit of it out. As he tugged, he wondered what he had done to make Mikey run off and leave him to deal with his plight alone. He hoped Mikey would come back; Donnie wanted to attempt to make up for his apparent slip-up, whatever it was.

Blood poured steadily from the wound now that he had opened it back up, and, for the slightest moment, he grasped the purpose of the thread’s existence and understood.

But then the sense of perception was gone, and he was in even more pain and rather confused. He craned his neck further and managed to lap at the source. The taste of his own blood overwhelmed his sense; he quickly needed to withdraw, grinning in distaste. It was too much, so he began pulling at the cloth that enclosed his paw and restricted his movements. Slits in the material allowed his claws leeway, and, he assumed, that was something.

He hadn’t noticed his absent talon until he triumphed over the fabric.

He blinked down in alarm before sniffing it delicately. He proceeded to lick it gingerly, whimpering. How did he miss that?

He ceased when he heard his family’s approach. Their steps were hastier. Not as leisurely as usual. Did Mikey go upset them too?

Donnie must have done something _very_ bad.

His heart sank at the notion, and his whimpers resumed. Was it that he didn’t respond to Mikey’s question? What even was it again?

Oh, yes.

“You okay?”

But how did he expect a reply? When had Donnie ever done that?

A vague memory twinged in the back of his mind, and he fought to capture it, to pin it down. He merely received slivers of it: being blinded by some substance, a girl— _April_ —wiping it away, Raph’s anxious face, a soft touch... _no way_ was this just one recollection. They had their own atmosphere and overlaying emotion. Before they could slip away from him, he sought for an exact location. Indistinctly, he could recognize the interior of the building that had served as their initial meeting place…

Then all those memories flooded back: the trek, the fight. But then they cut off, returned again with him in the heat of battle that died down shortly, and went on with his family staring up at him, raw anguish burning in their eyes. It abruptly broke off again, though he could faintly remember a surge of horror. And there were a lot more too, just really fuzzy so he actually could not guess what was occurring. Seldom emotions were his only hint there. Why all the holes, though? And why had he failed to recall this all sooner?

He was still musing when they entered, and he looked up absently before doing a double-take. They were all wounded and wrapped up too, Splinter an exception. A drawn-out whine cut off his short cries. They clearly hadn’t escaped that big fight without consequence either.

Mikey ran up, cradling an arm Donnie now saw to be bandaged, took one look at his bleeding shoulder and the cloth on the floor, and said, “Donnie, what did you _do_? I wasn’t even gone for a minute.”  His tone was far from scolding—a lot more concerned than anything, in fact—, but Donnie still drew back. His brother disregarded the movement, kneeling in front of him. Donnie couldn’t bear to look him in the eye, so he instead watched the others gather around him. But they emanated similar distress, with jerky movements and disturbed eyes.

It was hauntingly familiar— it wasn't a thing you wanted to see a lot. It was a lot like the way they had been looking at him in that fuzzy, half-there memory. He just couldn't grasp _why_. Why they looked at him like that. Why they were so devastated. So upset. So close to _tears_.

Desperately were his brothers trying to lock gazes with him; Donnie couldn't meet any of their eyes either, though. So he turned to his father. Splinter was gently examining his injury and making an almost fruitless endeavor to wipe away the steady trails of scarlet that coursed down the length of his limb with the wrapping from his paw. He shifted his attention upward, and his pupils widened. He reached out with the bloodied cloth, toward his snout, but Donnie snapped his head away when he got too close. Splinter took his mandible anyway and eased his head to its former position, where he proceeded to fold the fabric and swab around his mouth.

Once Splinter had released, he said, “Raphael, would you fetch a towel?” Donnie saw him hold up the utterly red scrap of material. “This will no longer do.”

“Hai, Sensei,” came an immediate reply, and then he had gone.

The realization that Donnie could understand their words in full dawned on him then, suddenly. And, though it did please him, he was confused. When had he picked this all up?

But did it matter, really? Did he care?

Yes, it did. He did care.

He whined and turned, achieving a few good licks on the wound before Raph returned. Splinter murmured quiet gratitude, not taking his eyes off of the gash then. He absently folded the towel and placed his free hand on Donnie’s neck and pressed the other to the wound.

Donnie let out a yelp that quickly evolved into a snarl. He flung his head back, snapping blindly. Several cries of alarm came from his family and— _no_! He hadn't meant to lash out! It just hurt a lot and— were _they_ hurt? That was more important by far. Quickly, he looked over Splinter. No blood, no broken skin. Injury was only to be seen on his features. Donnie didn’t think he would’ve done physical damage to any of his brothers with the sharp movement, so all he had to do was try to appease them. But when he stood, he needed to slide back in account of the pain that met him.

After a second of heavy breathing, Donnie went to rise again, only to be discouraged by Splinter. “Lie down, Donatello. It is okay.” He released a quiet exhale. “Oh, my son,” he murmured. “Even in your present state, you care more about others than yourself.” Splinter, after a moment, put a paw on his cheek and stroked with his middle digit. When Donnie looked up, lids half-way down, he determined, past Splinter's affection, a spark of hope in his father's eyes. Probably ignited by the lack of confusion in his own.

Still. That was a _weird_ thing to say, now that Donnie thought about it.

As soon as Splinter removed his hand, such musings were pushed aside by a nearly irresistible urge to lick his wound. Splinter promptly nudged his beak away, and Mikey set to averting his attention by petting him over the head He didn't acknowledge his father's renewed attempts to staunch the bleeding, more set on Mikey and Leo and Raph and trying to unravel the whole giant enigma that was his present life.

Was there something wrong with him? Some kind of medical thing that made him not remember points of his life? That could explain the vast abyss of past recollection. But why would it lessen now, and why would that night in the building be so significant?

“He’s thinkin’,” Mikey said suddenly, tapping Donnie’s nose with a big finger. A small grin had found a home on his face.

“That’s… good,” Leo said, and, after a moment of what might have been reluctance, began to stroke in Mikey’s absence. Mikey didn’t stop at that, going on to rub his snout. Donnie closed his eyes and slumped into the combined contact, letting out a long exhale through his nostrils. Whatever Splinter was doing, it mustn’t be bad. They’d not let him do anything bad—and, anyway, that was his father. He wouldn’t hurt him.

When a new palm landed on his other, relatively uninjured limb, Donnie tilted his head and started a low, quiet purr.

“There he goes again.” Raph’s voice was rough and not affectionate and muttered but understandable yet, whether he wanted it to be or not. His head wasn't petting, but there was still pressure on his arm, even more so now. Donnie’s fleeting pleasure soured, and the noise that was meant to be taken as favorable and happy withered as a whine stole all the emotion. Donnie raised his head and fixed Raph with an injured stare, another mewl building in his throat.

Splinter’s paw landed on Donnie’s nape again, reassuringly. “Raphael—”

“Raph, why'd you say that?” Mikey interrupted, baring his teeth. Then he cast his now warm attention to Donnie. “Don't you let him bother you. It's okay.” His face worked, but he still wore a grin. “You’ll… _you'll_ be fine, Donnie.”

Splinter glanced at Mikey, opened his jaw as if preparing to speak, closed it, and then re-established the scolding look onto Raph. “Raphael,” he said again, “I understand that you do not want your brother to partake in such… such _animalistic_ behaviors, but scolding something positive as such will not help Donatello.”

“What will, then?” Raph mumbled.

“Speaking to him deliberately. Trying to bring him back.” He paused momentarily to press and put more pressure on his wound. “Would you now? I would help, but, as you can see, Donatello is yet bleeding.”

“Yeah. How is it?” Mikey asked, leaning forward with one palm on Donnie's neck.

“It's relented. Donatello upset it quite a bit, however.”

 _Sorry_. Donnie lowered his head, huffing. Could he do anything without bothering someone?

Leo murmured, “It's okay.” He patted his nose twice before dropping his hand. His eyes went to Raph, accusing, and after a second, Raph said,

“Sorry, Donnie.”

Donnie rolled his head to his red-masked brother, sending him a long, searching look before he shifted to lay his mandible on his thigh. He didn’t quite understand _why_ Raph had done that, but, with what he could assume from Splinter and Raph’s exchange, his brother considered it to be for his own good. So… Donnie _guessed_ he was okay with it, and he suppressed his hurt.

Raph’s hand landed on Donnie’s head shortly, and he snuggled closer, pulling further up and dislodging his father. Splinter readjusted without a word, brushing the edge of the wound with an opposable digit. Then, he said, “This is likely the best it will get, at this point. Leonardo, would you retrieve the kit?” After a moment, he added, “And another towel and some water?”

 _Kit_? _Water_? Donnie lifted his gaze to Raph, questioning. But he had his eyes on something else. Mikey too. Neither of them looked his way when he rumbled either, so he butted Raph's plastron and whimpered. Without even glancing down, he absently rubbed Donnie's head few times, saying, “It's okay.”

 _Guys_! Why weren't they paying attention to him? Why was Leo walking away so _interesting_? Donnie, at last, turned to the speaker himself, making a noise that was almost a growl and _very_ agitated.

There he froze, eyes locked onto the towel that was once white but now almost entirely a dark red. Did all that blood actually come from him?

The whimpers started as he desperately tried to reach the injury, much to their dislike. Raph held his neck and stroked, shushing him excessively. Mikey shoved his snout, the same sounds from him. Splinter sat, seemingly powerless with his bloody hands. Good. Donnie didn't want his father to touch him like that.

He didn't really want them touching him either if they were going to do it like this. All he wanted was to lick his bleeding wound naturally, and he had no idea what they could find wrong with that. But they did, insistently urging, and it became too much. He succumbed in both confusion and frustration, his head falling back to Raph's lap. At his surrender, his brothers were suddenly gentle again, telling him he was good.

Why did that feel _wrong_? It never felt _wrong_ before.

Leo returned then, with all requested items awkwardly cradled. Splinter must've wiped his hands on _something_ because they weren't as bloodied as before when he took the cup of water from him. He set the cup down while he accepted everything else.

Donnie _was_ thirsty, and it was nice of Splinter to take that into consideration, but Donnie doubted his snout would actually fit in the cup enough for him to lap up the liquid. It was worth a shot, he supposed. Splinter promptly took it away though when he tried, simply saying, “No.”

Oh. Of course it wasn't for him.

“We'll get something for you to drink in a minute, okay?” Leo promised, patting his neck. “Just hold on.”

Donnie huffed a breath, laying his head down next to his forelimb.

“Aw, Donnie, don't be mad at us,” Mikey whispered, leaning forward, propped up on his good arm. “Splinter needs that water.”

 _For_ what? Donnie huffed again, but he laid his chin on Raph's thigh once more, sighing heavily when his brother returned his hand to his head.

“Try to lull him to sleep, or at least get him to relax.” From his peripheral vision, he saw a blurry Splinter adjusting the fresh towel underneath his wound. He paused. “Please.”

 _Do they think I don't know what they're saying_? Now Donatello was properly suspicious.

Raph began caressing Donnie's head then, and Mikey brushed the side of his neck, and Leo scratched Donnie's nose as best as he could. Donnie, to be fair, fought strongly, but he was overwhelmed by the tide of pleasure, and he fell into the trap.

Despite this, the strange sensation coursing down his arm was enough to rouse him partially from his daze. Though they successfully brought him back under their control, he had his head back long enough to see Splinter pouring the water on his gash. It took him a minute to formulate a reason through the fuzziness.

_The towel is pink now, and there isn't a lot of blood anymore._

So he was cleaning the wound.

Donnie thought that the water would've been put to a better use if they had let him drink it. He could clean the wound himself, even if the taste and smell were admittedly overpowering… Oh well. Leo wouldn't break his promise.

He laid there tranquilly a little bit more, reveling in the affection and humoring Splinter. He had stopped with the water a bit ago, and Donnie could hear snipping and feel a quick tugging sensation if he concentrated. Nothing that bothered him.

A few moments later, Donnie heard a strange noise then. It was drawn out and kind of like a grinding noise. Donnie had never heard anything like it before.

After that, Donnie tried to listen more, but the peaceful bliss lured him back. Splinter had said something during that, but it was too long and complicated for him to care. Though his brother's replied with short responses like, “Yeah,” and, “I _think_.” There was something else long one of them said, but Donnie couldn't bring himself out of it.

Someone suddenly tapped his forehead, pausing their petting to do so. Donnie's response was a growl layered by purrs, almost indistinguishable. The same brother— Mikey, he thought—said something next, but it was lengthy too.

Mikey started petting again, and though Splinter gave a suspicious sigh, Donnie once more felt as good as he could with the circumstances.

He didn't anticipate the pain.

It stabbed his arm, piercing it, ripping a yelp out of him as he flailed momentarily. Someone scruffed him incorrectly, painfully, and it only upped his terrified heartbeat even more. Whimpers shuddered violently out of his throat as he tried to tip his head upward, his eyes clenched tight and teeth bared.

“Raph, stop! You're _hurting_ him.”

He said something back, rushed and indiscernible, and then the excruciating pressure was gone.

His head fell forward, blinking rapidly as he recovered from both the scruffing and whatever the first thing had been. But, before he was able to completely, Raph guided his heavy head toward him and cradled it.

“It's okay, Donnie. It's okay. I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't know, okay? I didn't know.” His grasp tightened for a brief second, almost painful, before he relaxed again.

Donnie mewled, trying to pull away and go to Mikey and Leo. They wouldn't let Raph _or_ the other thing hurt him again. They'd protect him.

“Hey, _hey_ , dude, chill. We're right here, all right?” Mikey extended a hand to rub his muzzle, but he didn't help him. Donnie still couldn't put up much of a fight, yet recovering from pain and with Raph's firmer grip and Splinter holding his arm _so tight_. Leo wouldn't help either, no matter how much or how intensely he whined at him.  He only looked through ever-growing sadder, dull blue eyes.

“ _Donatello_ , it will be _okay_ ,” his father insisted gently, using his thumb to stroke a bit.

Splinter! Splinter would save him!

Donnie twisted his head free with one powerful, sudden movement, throwing his head back to redirect his pleas—

Donnie's heart dropped.

Splinter held some strange two-armed _thing_ clutching a shiny, pointed, bent stick, it clearly having been inserted into his flesh.

Immense betrayal flooded Donnie and kept the fragments of his shattered heart at the bottom. They were his _family_. They were supposed to protect him and love him, not deliberately _hurt_ him. Were they even his family? They could be lying.

Then his instincts would be lying too.

Donnie slumped in defeat, his head falling to the ground with a painful thud.

“Aww, buddy— oh, please don't look at me like that. I'm really sorry, but Splinter needs to do that, okay? If he doesn't, you'll get… sick. And your wound will hurt more,” Leo said slowly.

“We're trying to help,” added Mikey. Raph nodded, and Splinter started stroking again.

Donnie didn't like the sound of that. Hurting even more? And sick? How sick?

Was Leo lying?

He seemed awfully concerned. They all did.

“... Is that okay?” Leo then asked, leaning forward.

 _No_! Donnie snapped in his direction, teeth clacking as they met in a snarl. He could take care of his own wounds and stop them from hurting more. If he kept them clean, he wouldn't get sick. He didn't need their painful “help.” He didn't need them at all if they thought they could just hurt and treat him like this under the pretense of “helping.”

Raph reached his hand out, starting, “ _Donnie_ —,” but he snarled, jerking his head away and ignoring the flash of pain. They didn't deserve his affection after they _betrayed_ him like that.

Then they were all offering and extending their hands despite Donnie's hostility. No matter how much he snapped, they wouldn't stop. Donnie just wanted to get away, for them to leave, but standing _hurt_ , and that silver stick was still connected to him; he didn't know how easily he could get it off—

Donnie threw his head forward, a broken guttural noise shuddering from him. He'd had _enough_. They had to be stupid to see he didn't want them touching him anymore; that he didn't want them _period_. He'd show his teeth all the way and get serious. Bite if he had to... but not enough to make them bleed. He didn't want to go that far _. He_ wouldn't hurt them.

They stared at him with wide eyes, their hands finally away from him. They all had similar looks, something that Donnie thought could be surprise. There were more too. Mikey's eyes were shiny again, and Leo was still stock-still, his breathing the most uneven as he rapidly looked Donnie over. A thought came to him— something like it looked as though Leo's worst nightmare had come true.

Donnie didn't know what that could be, nor did he care. Now that they weren't directly bothering him, he could get out the shiny stick and escape. Maybe he'd escape first. The best thing to do would be for him to try to find Casey's underground cave den and live with him. Perhaps it had a tree too! Casey, the funny, nice boy who always played with him and petted him, would let him claw it, so he didn't have to struggle with four sets of sheaths.

When Donnie tried to stand, however, his forelimbs wouldn't stop trembling, and he couldn't support himself enough to get his hind legs under him; not to mention the fiery sparks of tension in his muscles and the familiar sensations of _pain_. He, at last, slumped, his first breath there a wheezy gasp.

Okay, maybe he'd need the stick out first.

“Donatello,” Splinter said, voice firm and low and authoritative, “you are injured… _hurt_. We can help you feel better and not hurt, but only if you let me close your wound.”

Donnie raised his head slightly and growled, the noise punctuated by huffing breaths. He couldn't trust anything they said; especially if it didn't make any sense. How could he close Donnie's wound with a sharp stick and black string?

Speaking of, it _really_ hurt again, freshly smarting from his attempt to stand. Awkwardly trying to keep a wary eye on them from his peripheral vision, Donnie stretched his head back to see it bleeding more again, trails making it further down without drying.

Donnie pulled away when he caught significant movement. It'd been Mikey, his eyes shinier and his teeth gritted. Lowly, with a wavering, almost broken voice, he said, “I told you guys we should've tried to explain it to him before. Now he _hates_ us.”

“He doesn't,” Leo murmured, meeting Donnie's redirected, cold stare for just a moment. “He's… He's just confused.”

Despite everything and him not _wanting_ to, Donnie still felt a flood of concern. Mikey didn't sound too great. Neither did Leo. Raph hadn't spoken, but his eyes were big and his mouth open. Donnie allowed a brief glance at Splinter. He had flattened ears, and his eyes were wide and… heavy in a way Donnie couldn't recognize or explain.

Those heavy eyes met his steadily, even though Donnie could see he was trembling, just a bit. “You are _hurt_ , my son. I can help you.”

 _How?_ Donnie impossibly deepened his snarl, increasing the volume of the continuous growl. But he was getting tired. All over. His legs didn't want to hold this crouch for him a lot longer. His shoulder really hurt too. Maybe his throat as well; it was really dry.

“You're about to fall over,” said Raph then, lowly. “Just lie down and trust us.”

Donnie wanted to so badly. Wanted so badly to snuggle up with them again and think that he was safe. But they'd taken that away. He didn't know what to expect anymore.

“Bro, _please._ ”

Donnie's will was breaking. Everything hurt. He was tired. Everyone looked so sad; maybe, just maybe, they really did want to help him. What could he say? He didn't understand. Maybe their weird procedure would make him feel better.

But Donnie still didn't trust them a lot. Maybe he'd just let them take out the needle (Yeah, that sounded right), and _then_ he'd go and find Casey's den when he didn't hurt anymore. As long as they weren't lying. That sounded like his best option. Let them make it not hurt anymore, and then escape to Casey later.

With a mournful noise, at last Donnie submitted to their wishes and his flaming muscles. The rush of relief just overpowered the pain of jostling his bad shoulder and spread through his body like a most pleasant tide. It wasn't long before the _hurt_ came back though, like a nasty storm.

With one eye open, Donnie watched as Splinter was the first to make a move toward him, slow and cautious. Then Mikey, and Leo putting himself in front of Mikey, and then Mikey pushing himself back in front with a quick movement that disturbed Donnie for just a second. Raph was coming toward him on the side, seemingly trying to keep within Donnie's sight while separating himself from the source of discord.

“Donatello?”

Splinter's voice promptly tore his gaze away from Raph, and his heart jumped when he saw how close Splinter had gotten while he hadn't been looking.

“Calm,” came his scarily steady voice, though soft and lightly peremptory, as he extended one hand that Donnie could see fought to remain still. “It's okay.” That hand, under his wary eyes, inched forward until, finally, Donnie permitted the fingers to land on the bridge of his snout.

He stiffened, tensing his weak muscles as he anticipated a surge of agony. It never came; it was just the mild sensation of contact and small stroking movements.

He began scratching nicely, and, in a hushed voice, he repeated, “Calm.”

A conscious effort wasn't necessary. As he pushed his head into the affection, his body unworked. A low-pitched sigh escaping his nostrils.

“We got 'im,” Raph said, and what Donnie assumed to be his cool palm fell on his neck. “You go do your thing.”

Splinter's hand fell away to be replaced by both, pressed against his cheeks. He encouraged his lowered head upward, into his eyes, where he stared for a bit, deep and hard _but Donnie didn't care because even though Raph didn't have crazy nails and he was still mad at him it felt so good_. He thought Splinter could've sighed again, but he wasn't sure.

Then, like that, he had gone, and Raph had practically stopped the nice _good_ petting in favor of talking. Donnie whined, high and long to show his upsetment because even though he was supposed to be mad at Raph, and he still was, it felt good and good was… good.

And maybe he liked the contact deep down.

 _No_ … Donnie could not think of them that way; he had to escape later! It was imperative he not get reattached.

Mikey had returned, looking up with what Donnie could possibly identify as curiosity. Maybe concern too… ugh. He hated the complex emotions his brothers and father and Casey got a lot of times. April, also, maybe. The girl kept her distance. Donnie only knew she was sad, like the rest of them.

When Leo extended his hand before Mikey could, Donnie nuzzled his palm because Leo was sad, and Donnie didn't want him to be sad. Even if he was mad at him and was going to run away later. Leo made a weird noise that Donnie hated equally because he still didn't know what it meant. Not understanding upset him more than it probably should've— Donnie didn't know why.

“Oh man, Donnie,” Raph said quieter, scratching nice again. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

More stuff to put together later. Mikey had his face pressed against Donnie's neck, and his fingers gently stroked his throat.

For just a second, Donnie swore his brother's body heaved, and he got _bad bad bad_ signals, pulsing in his mind, dark and urging. Before he could act on those urges, though, the vibes quit, or at least significantly faded, and Mikey seemed okay again, even if it almost hurt his looped arm was so tight and he'd scooted impossibly closer since. Mikey still didn't look well. But Donnie didn't know why or what to do. So he did nothing.

“Are you ready?”

Donnie rumbled softly, trying to forget Mikey's situation, and lowered his head to better see Raph's

“Yeah?”

He rumbled again.

“Go ahead, Sensei,” Leo said, voice lightly edged with something. “He'd be more upset if he wasn't.”

Splinter seemed to prepare himself before pulling away. “Do you wish to try to lull him once more?”

“You think he likes us enough anymore?” Mikey's voice wasn't right. It was raspy and hoarse and weak and not him.Those bizarre impulses began a faint buzzing in the back of his head.

“Of course he does.” Splinter's response, for Donnie, was unexpected and sharp enough to make him flinch. He swiveled his head to see his brother faltering under a passionate(?) glare.

“Okay, okay…” Mikey muttered, using one eye to lead into full contact with Donnie.

Until Leo patted his leg and said, “C’mere, Donnie.” He hesitated a bit, before cautiously, he brought his head over and nudged Leo's leg. “Yeah, there you go,” he said quietly. He, after some reluctance, rested his palm on Donnie's head. Donnie, grumbling slightly, laid his head on Leo's thigh. Mikey's and Raph's hands returned after the shift.

“I will have to warn you this time, Donatello,” Splinter murmured.

As Splinter situated himself, Donnie, with a deep breath, pressed himself closer to Leo, who stiffened for the barest moment. “ _Whoa_ ,” Donnie heard him breathe.

He disregarded it, burrowing further as Splinter questioned his readiness. He must've taken the action as a “yes,” for he felt the cold touch of metal on the sensitive scales near the injury that almost made him shudder. Donnie whimpered, the noise made indistinct by his present position. Leo put his hands on Donnie's head as an added comfort. “Sensei, are you _sure_ you didn't find any tranquilizers or anything?” he asked, running one hand down Donnie's neck.

“Yes, Leonardo,” he said, “if I had discovered _any_ way to mitigate Donatello’s pain, I would have administered it long ago.”

… wow. Those were big words. They were kind of familiar, but Donnie could not think of the meanings.

It made sense to at least Leo, as he gave a slight nod Donnie saw from the corner of his sight.

He wanted to think harder on those words of Splinter's. The definitions were so _close._ On the brink of his mind, hovering, taunting him, and he didn't want to end the pursuit at this moment.

His brothers then started their affection again, much to his great dislike. The fuzz of pleasure instantaneously gathered on the edges of his mind, sending away his try at figuring out those words Splinter said.

His anger turned into happiness as they went on, and Donnie couldn't even remember why he'd been upset as he found a way to push closer.

After a flush a water, the freezing touch returned, knocking him a bit out of the daze. His heart jolted and accelerated with the knowledge of _what_ was going on and it was _so hard_ to keep still and not lurch away and remember the _promise_ he'd made to let them make him less hurt so he could easily travel.

The tip pressed back against the scales, and Donnie’s body went taut in apprehension. All of their attempts at what must've been reassuring words were faint as a screen of fear settled, and it took so much to remember that, no matter what, if he wanted Casey, he had to stay still.

He was at their mercy, but Donnie concluded at the last moment that Casey and the potential tree were worth it.

 

It… hadn't hurt as much as he'd thought. Not as much as last time. Maybe because he knew it was coming, or maybe that he was physically prepared, or both. Someone had also pressed down on his toe, and, after a while of it all, the pressure hurt much worse than the needle.

Maybe the worst part was the nasty water Splinter had forced him into swallowing. It was bitter, and Donnie still tasted it for a lick when he successfully manipulated his tongue to the side. Donnie couldn't have done a thing as Splinter held his jaws and blew on his nose. Nothing he could get away with, at least.

Maybe, after it all, the fact he _still hurt_ was the worst. He'd only finished and _made_ the others leave a few minutes ago, but he said Donnie wouldn't hurt. It all angered him more. They'd tricked him enough!

But he couldn't leave now with everyone up and Splinter sitting on the floor strangely like he usually was. So he was stuck under the tree he could not claw, surly and in what Donnie considered misery.

Distantly, he caught the sound of water rushing, and he was painfully reminded of his dry throat. It did nothing but sink his unpleasant mood further. After all that Donnie had tolerated, he knew he at least deserved water.

The water stopped running, and Donnie tucked his snout under his freshly bandaged paw. Splinter wouldn't let him go out and move much, as he'd explicitly said, so getting up wasn't worth it. He needed to stay on their good sides so they weren't expecting anything. No matter how thirsty he was.

And, at that moment, Leo entered, in two hands a precariously held bowl of… water. The good water. It didn't smell like the nasty water he'd been given earlier. Donnie brought his head up as Leo nervously glanced at an aware Splinter. After a dragging second, Leo continued, toward Donnie until he got close enough to crouch.

“I told you I'd get you something to drink,” he said. “I try to keep my promises.” He offered a hesitant smile, wide and uncertain, before pushing the bowl closer.

Donnie promptly submerged his muzzle in the water, and he had to deal with a sneezing fit and a Leo failing to suppress his laughter before he could drink in peace.

  
  


“Does it seem like that—that _that side_ of Donnie is getting more aggressive?”

“He was in _pain_ , Raph. And he was confused and hurt. How'd you expect him to act?” Mikey said immediately, turning away from his bubbling pot to eye his red-masked brother.

“How about when he growled at Leo last night?”

“He was tired, obviously. And that _was_ Donnie. Anyway, do you not remember how much he cuddles when he's happy?” Mikey rubbed absently at a scab, and, upon Raph’s silence, returned to his third attempt at creating a soup they could all enjoy. He stirred as fluently as he would with his dominant arm.

Raph grunted, setting his chin on his arm. Then he tucked his head under the arm, for just a moment, before his fingers curled into a fist and pounded the table. “ _I can’t believe we lost him_.”

Mikey froze, tensing. He said, after a moment, “We… We didn't _lose_ him, Raph. He's not gone.”

“He's not _our_ Donnie,” Raphael grumbled, clenching his fists. “It's _that thing_.”

“It's not his fault, dude.” Mikey paused. “It's not 'that thing’s’ fault either. We can get him back. He was just distracted earlier. Pfft, hell, he might even come back all by himself. Remember last night?”

“He had us then and now we _can't go to him_.”

“But he was more himself this morning at some points,” Leo said quietly and suddenly, pushing himself off the frame and in. “And now that he's in a better environment, maybe… maybe he can manage himself.”

Mikey had jumped at Leo's unexpected appearance and input, but, now that the immediate surprise had dissipated, he nodded vigorously. “Yeah! See, Raph? It'll be okay.”

Raphael only huffed and stood abruptly. “How is it?”

Mikey turned and fixed him with a stare. “Uh, what?”

“The _soup_.”

Mikey's eyes widened. “Oh—more done. Needs more flavor. Again.”

“I can't believe you threw out the other soup.” Leo had since entered the kitchen further and now had a place on a chair.

“It was _bad_. Old. Lost its taste.”

“Never knew you were such a perfectionist, Mikey.” Leo gave a grin that failed to reach his eyes. Raph snorted.

Mikey whirled around and shook a dripping spoon at them. “Only when I cook.” His smile faltered, then fell. Softer, he asked, “Do you think D could keep all the salt and spices and stuff down?”

“Ma—”

A cry decimated the little peace they had found and intercepted Raph. It was an uncanny, almost _unearthly_ wail that shredded the air and paralyzed them.

Mikey clutched the spoon with painful force.

He was also the first to move in throwing the wooden tool unceremoniously into the pot. “God, Donnie,” was muttered under his breath as he took off after Raph.

Donnie was on up on all fours in the dojo, towering and _almost_ intimidating, huffing and groaning as he swung his head from side to side, backing into the tree. Splinter was reaching for his head with one hand as he wildly patted and caressed with the other. “Donatello,” he said with an uneven voice. “Donnie, what is b— wrong?”

Whimpers joined the barrage of agonized noises, soon overpowering it all. He jumped and lurched away when he must have at last acknowledged Splinter’s touch, knocking his lower half harshly against the tree and jarring his injured body. A yelp arrested the cries in response, and, afterward, he was silent for just a moment before starting back up.

“Donnie, Donnie, shh; it's okay. You're okay,” Leo began delicately, reaching out to him. “It's _okay_.”

More of their hushes and gentle words followed, and Mikey had begun to say, “You're fine, yeah? So just l—” It fell off at the look Donnie shot them; his lips peeled back, teeth bared, his pupils massive, the elusive, rare-seen whites flashing in his eyes as his gaze madly darted over them all. It locked on Splinter for just a moment, and he took in a ragged breath that racked his body as he exhaled. His lids screwed shut again.

“Donnie— Oh my god, Donnie! I—”

“Dude, dude, it's okay! Chill!”

Raph pushed forward, managing to press a palm to Donnie's forelimb. “ _Breathe_ ,” was all he uttered fiercely. His other hand found his neck, and they both squeezed a gentle and hopefully grounding pressure.

Donnie lowered his head, his breaths yet heavily labored. He opened his previously clenched eyes, sweeping his attention over the four. He inhaled once more, more even and not broken. He slumped a bit, shifting on his feet unsteadily and panted, whimpers set between the gasps for breath.

Raph took a deep breath himself. “Yeah, there you go. Calm,” he said quietly, allowing a small smile.

Their twice-mutated brother (and son) tipped his head as his blue gaze once more found them, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. His jaws parted, and it seemed he was about to attempt to speak before he must've opted against the idea, instead bowing his head further. Don’s breathing began to sync with Raph's stroking. Starting again— inhale. Going down—hold. Reaching the bottom—exhale.

Start.

Down.

Bottom.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

His broad back ceased to heave with every fought-for breath, and his saucer pupils were contracting. His eyes— dimming. Losing their wild light.

Then, finally, he lowered himself to the ground in compliance to Splinter and Leo’s gentle pushes, huffing softly. Donnie looked to them, again opening his mouth. And, this time, something resulted. Something— a low rumble.

His eyes widened as it came from his throat, and he now faced forward and looked down, lips turned in a grimace, his pupils dancing left to right as his head moved similarly, but slightly, like he was shaking it in denial. It persisted for a moment and beyond before Leo started, “Oh, Donnie… hey, it's all right, okay?...” His voice petered when he saw how unlikely it was that Donatello was properly listening. From him came a whine that steadily built in intensity until it was near _calliopean_ and very _high_ and so _pained._

Abruptly, he buried his face in his arms, and that anguished noise of his peaked as his body rippled with a shudder from the too-sudden movement.

“Shh, Donatello. Shhhh.” Splinter verbally endeavored to console his seemingly disconsolate son while his other children went to patting and stroking almost desperately. Then, Splinter himself reached out to Donnie, gingerly running his knuckles over his head.

But…

Donatello growled, muffled by the shield of forelimbs in which he had retreated to. Though the noise was choked back almost immediately, they all had heard.

Splinter’s hand recoiled, and quickly Don withdrew, his arms following. His breathing accelerated, and, very suddenly, his head jerked back up, fixing his gaze on Yoshi. He released a strangled noise, then another and another, each attempt at English less and less human and more _animal_ until Splinter shushed him as kindly as he could possibly. Donnie gave him a look then, with his eye ridges knitted together and his lower jaw slightly down; his nostrils flared and his eyes confused and searching, his head tipped.

Splinter reached out for his muzzle, but, upon Donatello's prompt reaction, he redirected his touch to his son's forelimb, where he rubbed tenderly.

“I understand that you three will want to be with your brother,” Splinter said almost leisurely, miraculously maintaining eye contact with Don, “but I wish to have a word with him first.” At that, Donnie withered and shrunk into himself, cutting the contact off simultaneously, and Splinter closed his eyes with a little sigh.

Raph opened his mouth as if to protest, looked at Donnie, and then closed it, his palm finding his carapace. Mikey had since fallen against his comparatively unscathed limb, saying quietly, but not unenthusiastically, “We’ll be back; don't you forget it!” and completely disregarding his brother's prior aggression.

Leo tilted his head slightly, frowning, attempting to meet his brother's eyes with his questioning stare. Donnie's pupil flitted toward him briefly but darted away almost immediately. He shifted his head on his hands, clenching his eyes shut.

After the failure, Leo stood and suppressed a _slightly frustrated_ exhale, nodding toward Splinter and saying, “Come on, guys.”

Raph and Mikey complied, albeit reluctantly, and followed Leonardo out.

And, despite all the attempts to avert their gaze, Donnie watched as they exited, his big azure eyes almost heartbroken as they plodded down the steps.

 

The transition into reality had been quite a slow one.

If Donnie tried particularly hard, he could remember the beast’s puzzlement as it mulled, pondering _everything_ , really.

And physical pain.

A lot of physical pain.

Besides that, his personal recollection grew more and more vivid as the animal probed the deepest recesses that had been restricted. It persisted, struggling against the barrier that faltered with every question that coaxed out a slow and fuzzy but feasible answer. And, at last, it had succeeded, the memories breaking through and swarming like water surging from a dysfunctional dam. The triumph swelling in his chest from the sheer fact that i— _he_ had done it deflated so quickly as it all sunk in.

 _He had lost again_.

_Not even sleep was a release._

The realization and return itself might as well had been a strike for the way he had shot up, agony bursting _everywhere._ His father must've jerked from his meditative state as soon as Donnie had opened his mouth to wail as fast as he had gotten to him. His touch on Donnie's neck had been firm, but still gentle— concerned.

Not much different from presently: soothing, repetitive movements on his forelimb, though it did very little to console him.

He took in a deep breath and brought his attention _up_ , into Splinter's reddish eyes, so familiar and worried and _confused_. Splinter took notice swiftly, and he turned his head, just a bit, keeping the contact. “Donatello,” he began, quietly, “please, I do not understand. At first, I convinced myself that this behavior was but a result of exhaustion. However, now that you certainly have gotten enough rest I… I cannot fathom the reason fueling your responses.” He lowered his head and inhaled deeply. “Michelangelo mentioned that you spoke; that you are capable of speech.” His eyes met Donatello's once more.“Donatello—Donnie— talk to me. Tell me what is wrong. _Please_ , my son, tell me, and I'll work my best to fix it. I promise.”

He… Donnie hadn't _meant_ to allow that horrible noise to pass. The animal had gotten hold of _his_ feelings and Donnie had let his already shaky control falter for just a second and it _took him over_. And now he had hurt his father's feelings far beyond what he had ever desired because he was _selfish._

Selfish? No, no, no— where had that come from? Donnie was _protecting_ Splinter from the horrible tru— and did he even deserve it? Deserve to be protected? He already _hated_ him for being so pathetic that the idea that his failure of a student couldn't control himself wouldn't come as a surpr— No! Splinter _cared._ How could Donnie not see that clearly? What was wrong with him?

He flinched. Stupid, stupid question.

“Donatello?” Splinter's voice was questioning, layering the worry. “You… You do not have to tell me now. I can understand how uncomfortable you must be.” His hand only then stopped, and he squeezed before he _oh so slowly_ brought his hand up, just holding out one middle digit, best compared to an index finger. Donatello fought back against the urge to pull away; his father at least deserved this, to know his son didn't utterly _hate_ him, though some part of it wanted him to.

Splinter made contact, tender and slight. Donnie could feel his father's gaze on him despite his closed eyes. His breath hitched in his throat, and his muscles tensed. Splinter murmured an, “It's all right,” but he hesitated yet.

The immediate reaction to his stroking was to _get away_ or _bite_ , the primitive instincts sudden and strong and so _hard_ to fight. His eyes flew open. Splinter persisted despite Donnie's defensive posture, making muted shushing noises as he traced Donnie's upper jaw, his eyes never straying from his own, even though Donnie had his eyes trained downward.

Much to his surprise, his body began to relax, licks of pleasure becoming evident through the flame of fierce discomfort. Donnie took a deep breath, the exhale trembling as he unwound his muscles fully. A few last composing breaths had followed before he pressed his snout into his touch, a soft, short rumble coming from him.

Though Splinter's chuckle was quiet, his words were quieter. “See, Donnie? I'm not that bad.” The next involuntary noise was a lot louder, almost in agreement.

Then Donatello comprehended his father's words.

He removed his head, lifting his gaze to Splinter's, frowning. _Oh_ …

 _I'm sorry_ , Donnie wanted to say, though in no way would it cover everything. It would just be a growl anyway; a fitting growl. Donnie lowered his head as he inhaled deeply and pulled his lower body closer.

Splinter, after a moment of the arrangement, offered his hand again, and Donatello nudged his wrist, a sad trill escaping his throat.

As he laid his palm on the bridge of Donnie's snout, Splinter murmured, “Donnie, I am terribly sorry for whatever it is I have done.” He was silent for a beat. “You know that, yes?”

Though Donnie nodded, he thought, _That's a_ very _extensive apology_. The corner of his mouth twitched subtly, threatening to break into a snarl, and Donnie felt Splinter tense. Quickly, he nuzzled the palm of his hand. And, shortly, his father's stiff posture eased once more, and he resumed stroking. Donnie rumbled, shutting his eyes and giving in to the building, full purr. He pushed into the contact.

…

Hmm.

Maybe it wasn't _it_ that was making him feel this conflicted way, but some twisted side of _himself_!

 _Oh_ —

Donnie did _not_ like that thought, and he suppressed a shudder.

Donnie hadn't liked the thought of Splinter neglecting him either, so he had disregarded it for a long time before it was forcefully brought upon him. Splinter didn't _hate_ him, but he didn't really pay him much mind…

until now.

Why? Why now? Donnie stirred from his spell, giving Splinter a bleary look.

Was it because he had been mutated again? Because he had lost his son to an animal for a little bit?

Yeah. That sounded right.

Donnie's thoughts diverged abruptly when his father hit a sweet spot in his petting, and his purrs intensified as he stretched in pleasure.

But then Splinter pulled his hand away, leaving a fuzzy-minded Donatello very confused as he wondered where that hand had gone. He stared downward through squinted eyes, not truly processing much as the haze in his head diminished. After a moment of his mind clearing, he turned his attention to Splinter, rumbling in disappointment and question, still not quite all there.

“I do not like doing this to you without knowing your opinion.” His voice was almost a breath. “I… hate to think _this_ disturbs you.”

Donatello mulled over his words a bit until the meaning of them struck, and, at that point, he scrunched his face and hung his head. It felt _good_ — all the tender contact that led to them stroking and petting and fondling. He'd admit that; his body told it for him. He disliked strongly how it made his mind cloud and eventually _shut off_ so the bliss was all that he felt and all that mattered. His mind was all he had left of his former self, and he'd be damned if he let it go without a fight.

“Donatello?”

His head rose instinctively, his attention shifting to his father. His focus flattened his ears and lowered his head as he placed a hand on Donnie's paw. He fought back the ripple and the urge to pull the sensitive part out of his touch.

Quietly, oh so quietly, he said, “I'm sorry, Donnie.”

  


“—and Splinter was so distracted that he forgot to clean your wounds, so he had to _unstitch_ your shoulder.”

Despite his half-mind, Donnie's mentioned sutured wound twitched, and he was overwhelmed by the impulses to _scratch_ and _bite_ and _get them out._

“And that's the _third_ time you've done that,” Leo said in a strained voice, laboriously pushing his head back with help from Raph.

“Yeah. Are we gonna need to get you a cone?” Raph asked, mouth quirked in a smirk.

The image of him sporting a giant Elizabethan collar was ridiculous, but Donnie didn't doubt they'd _try_ to find one his size. It granted him enough will to cut off his continued struggle, dropping his head. Donnie released an irritated snort that almost blocked out Mikey's snickers.

Though Leo had cracked up too, he gave them both the most upset look he could likely muster and asked, “The stitches aren't bothering you, are they?”

At Donnie's rumbled response, he frowned further. “ _I don't know w_ —” He cut off and shook his head, pressing a finger to his temple. “Do you want me to get Splinter to make some more medicine?”

The animal answered for him with a flinch and a growl. Leo's scowl grew.

“Hey, man, that stuff’s _nasty_.” Mikey patted Donnie's neck before readjusting himself, so his carapace was against his forelimb. “You can't get mad at him.”

Leo shot a worried glance at their meditating father. “ _Shh_ , guys, he might hear.”

“He knows it,” Raph said. “That's why he gives it to us in the first place.”

“ _Raph_.”

Raph released a snort of amusement, leaning forward to briefly pet Donnie's neck. “You don't want it, do you?” Donnie saw his red-masked brother give him an almost fond look through his half-closed eyes. He found it in him to muster a grin in return.

“See?”

“That doesn't mean anything. He's half asleep.”

“Yeah? Donnie's _always_ half asleep.”

Donatello dragged his attention away from them, turning his head to watch Splinter silently make his way down the stairs. It was pulled back again quickly by Raph's insistent nudges. “Tell Leo you don't want the 'medicine.’”

Donnie lifted his head off his paws and pressed his nose to Leo's resting hand. The herbal concoction was bitter and _nasty,_ in Mikey's words, but it did help once upon a time. It didn't do much for his far larger, enhanced form except take the most severe edge off of the pain for a few minutes at most. Splinter probably hadn't wanted to take the risk of giving him over-the-counter pain relievers _or_ giving him too high of a dosage of herbs. So he was stuck with low doses of herbal tea and a lot more pain, and it was the best he'd get for a while.

“Ha!” Leo crowed, bringing him back to the present, crossing his arms after patting Donnie's nose.

“That doesn't mean anything either!” Raph huffed, glaring at Donnie. To him, he hissed, “ _Traitor_.”

Mikey’s cheek collided with Donnie’s neck as he leaned, his chuckles sending puffs and tickling his scales; it brought his attention away from the continued bantering. Mikey didn’t say anything, but his eyes were big and… happy. Donnie allowed himself another smile, and he shifted, twisting his head, so his chin was on Mikey's wrist. He could feel his little brother’s pulse, thrumming in his hearing—steady and even and reassuring, just as it should be. The repetitive sensation and comforting contentedness was soon a warmer feeling than the surrounding body he was heating with his presence and breath.

“Okay, bro, that hurts,” Mikey murmured, sounding a bit breathless as he slid his wrist free. “Thanks, though.” The hand moved to his head and patted. Donnie sighed and relaxed again, moving closer with a rumble. This… was nice. It was a nice escape and a nice feeling. A good way to retreat from the shame. It made him feel like they’d love him no matter what and that they’d never leave him.

For a moment, Donnie stirred, and those bad feelings he'd subconsciously found a way to escape tried to wriggle back into dominance. Quickly though, Mikey's rubbing soothed the writhing, harmful beast, and Donnie let himself relax again.

Until Raph saying, “Hey!” and Mikey's hastened rubbing— no, he was trying to _shake_ him— sliced through the fog, and his head pulled back before rising.

“Wow, buddy,” Raph said with a tilted head and furrowed eye ridges. “I was going to ask if you were you going to sleep _again_ , but obviously that's what you meant.” After a moment of Donnie's stare, he added, “You sleep so damn much.”

Donnie couldn't really say much since he had no intact memory and, generally, it was smaller animals who required more sleep.

Sleep. He could hardly keep his lip from curling. It'd been the cause of him reverting into that mindless animal. The mindless animal that caused his family so much pain. It was his fault for being too weak to fight it. Too _stupid_ to even think that those crates could contain something worse than imported Kraang parts because it didn't follow the mutagen schedule.

And maybe sleep would've helped him then, but it wouldn't help him much now that the effect was loss of consciousness. He didn't do anything. Maybe it'd make him heal quicker, but that could be managed sti—

“Hey, why’re looking at me like that?” Raph asked then, knocking him out of those thoughts. “Did I say somethin’?”

It took Donnie a beat to realize he'd been giving Raph a glare he didn't deserve. Promptly he lowered his head— maybe rougher than he meant— and opened his jaws to apologize before pausing. Daunted, they shut, and he instead slackened his posture and returned a softer gaze to him.

Now it was Mikey first who said, “Aww, hey, don't look like that,” moving his good arm upward to stroke the side of Donnie's neck.

He swallowed the uncomfortable grunt that'd been growing in his chest and crawling its way up his throat; he didn't want to tousle Mikey's feelings like that.

But Donnie still wasn't surprised when Mikey stopped after a brief moment, his hand falling and his cheek returning to his thick shoulder. He let out a breath, warm and deep as it slid over Donnie's arm, and he was tempted to give his own. He repressed it though, and he managed to ignore the cries of complaint in his neck long enough to stretch it back and butt Mikey's bicep. It was more awkward than he anticipated, and it left his neck aching with the effort. It had earned him a quick pat and a likely amused noise from Mikey and, he was pretty sure, Leo too.

Donnie's lip finally curled as the puff escaped him, and his head fell simultaneously, the ache still present but steadily throbbing away. He found himself nudging his snout under his forelimbs, and he decided it wasn't worth fighting.The bandage material brushed the bridge of his muzzle, and instantly he was exposed to another irritator. He couldn't stop the instinctive tugging either.

“Hey, _hey_ , no.” Mikey swatted at his snout. “I'm sorry, but you know you can't do that.” Donnie turned and felt his features distort with a silent snarl that he kept for a second before licking the area.

How dare he? How dare _they_ talk to him like he was some animal that needed discipline? At what point had that begun?

 _When he started mindlessly succumbing to It_?

Donnie stopped mid-lick. Fresh shame, hot and viscid, churned in his mind, disturbing everything else he'd rather keep adhered to the far sides and creating one roiling mess that put a bad taste in his mouth. He withdrew his tongue and swallowed, flashing a quick look at Mikey. With creased brows and a little frown— something he expected to be bigger—, Donnie looked away before he could watch him say, “You're acting… weirder— weird. Weird.” Donnie heard him get closer, and it was a struggle not to inch away. “Like, I know this can't be fun. But are you… okay? Something more than _this_ bugging you?”

“I’m fine,” he tried to say on impulse, and he could almost hear it in the growl around gritted teeth.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Mikey said in a small voice, and Donnie froze. Something hit him, strong and compelling and _foreign_ — and no it was familiar _why_ was it familiar— and every billow was even more so that Donnie only partly comprehended the ungainly sideways movement that had his limb give out under the stress.

Faintly he heard laughter, and, as that bizarre pressure in his mind lifted, it became more clear— they were all laughing at him. Wonderful.

 _At the least,_ he thought, _it broke the tension_.

Looking up, he saw Mikey, evidently better, and Raph not really holding anything back as it seemed, and, Leo, again, trying to swallow it. “A-Are y-y—” He coughed, his features falling in a frown. “Are you hurt?”

Despite his throbbing paw and wrist, he shook his head. He didn't need them worrying even more. He would test it later. Firmly, he hoped the pain would dissipate from the recently injured quickly. The majority of his weight was held on his front. If both limbs at some point were hardly going along… there would be trouble.

Leo didn't seem convinced. “Are you sure?” he prompted.

Frustration clawed at his throat, and the talons but dug deeper when he only snarled an indiscernible response. He grit his teeth, clenched his eyes, and swept away what he could of the thorns. In a voice that was like two stones grating and that he could hardly recognize as his own, he managed, “Yes.” The short, single word made his throat sting, and the involuntary rumble that followed was a sad relief.

Through one open eye, as he could finally cut the horrible noise short, Donnie met Leo's critical glower with the most power he could muster. It wanted to falter and submit, and he clenched his teeth against it and opened the other eye.

But it was like Leo could sense his wavering resolve, against his own will, and, in a flash of what _had_ to be sympathy, he broke off.

Donnie jerked his head right almost promptly, nearly overwhelmed by the frustration that bordered fury and made him grind his teeth and suppress snorts and huffs.

Sympathy _wasn't_ pity. It wasn't the same. Sympathy was like compassion. Pity was condescending, whether they acknowledged it or not. Leo… would he?

He brought his paw up to his snout without consideration, only to flinch away with a yelp that hurt his already smarting throat.

“You are hurt!” Donnie heard Leo exclaim over his own string of uncontrollable whimpers. Softer Donnie just heard him say, “You _lied_.”

Was that hurt in his voice?

A pleasantly cool touch on his wrist brought his attention away from Leo. Business-like Raph it was, running two of his three digits up and down his forearm. Gently he lowered his head and pressed the very tip of his nose to his wrist— he might as well acknowledge it now. There was no stopping. Carefully he brought his hand downward.

“Sorry,” he muttered as Donnie failed to hold back the whine. When Donnie opened his eyes, Raph was looking up at him. “You're the doctor here,” he said, carefully, for a reason Donnie cared not for. “What do you think?”

_Rest. It's what I meant to do._

But there wasn't a way he could put that into words now. And very likely not a way he could say so that would lighten Leo up. He couldn't control how anything came out, so his reason for this all, no matter what, probably wouldn't seem sincere enough. Quickly he gave him a glance. He radiated disappointment, with an unamused scowl and those dull eyes icy and his hands in tight fists.

Donnie looked away with as much indifference as he could muster, even though that stare sent a glacial chill through his core. A claw of hurt snagged his heart, and it wouldn't let go.

“Leo,” said Mikey suddenly, “how many times have you pretended not to be hurt? A lot, yeah? So stop it.” Mikey's eyes glittered. “You're not special like that.”

Donnie whipped his head toward Leo to see him narrowing his eyes. “He looked me in the eye and lied.”

“And you haven't?”

“This isn't about me. Donnie's hurt, and we could've helped him if he had said something.” The last two words were enunciated thoroughly, and Leo shot him a meaningful look.

“Maybe… he didn't want help? Maybe he— hey, you know what? D’s a person too. Ask him why.” Donnie hadn't realized his head had been withdrawing, and it jerked back further at Mikey's abrupt gesture as his heart jumped. He'd never been able to retract it entirely, but he was as close to it as he had ever gotten... and it was driven by his bickering brothers quarreling over his stupid decision.

Donnie shoved away the regret and nervously flit his gaze to Leo. His stony eyes locked on his, and it was so hard to not turn his head and bury it in Raph's lap. A strange and little guttural noise came short and quick from his throat as he half-wittedly drew a foremost paw backward.

And he wanted to kick both himself and Leo when the latter softened. And It was _relieved_. That was pity from Leonardo— it _had_ to be pity, and, if he was going to achieve anything in this sorry life, it was not going to be gained through pity. But It didn't care about him nor his wishes. Leo had only caved because the animal had made him submit and essentially _grovel_. It sickened Donnie.

His stomach only churned more when he saw how they were fixing their sorry gazes on him, and he was struck by simultaneous inclinations to both spit vehemently and coo in question. It was all he could do to choke the strangled jumble back; he couldn't account for the noise that came up anyway and the face he knew he made in result.

He was only pushed to up the intensity of the fiery glare. Defensiveness rose in his throat like bile, stinging, and his claws tried to dig into the mats.

Mikey fell first (even though the glower wasn't fixed directly on him, and for his submission Donnie felt sorry), and then Leo; although Donnie assumed it was more he was holding the disagreement for another time. But Raph held it when Donnie looked at him following the former nudging his forearm. The hand moved to the lower shoulder, and then what he could reach of Donnie's neck. Uncharacteristically quiet and soft, gently he questioned, “What's going on in that big brain of yours, little brother?”

He couldn't salvage his already crumbling facade of ferocity. His strict posture collapsed, his teeth met lip as much as possible, and his head drooped.

“Hmm?”

A fleeting glance proved that both Mikey and Leo were watching with relative interest. Donnie swallowed, returning to Raph. After a moment, Donnie began his attempt at saying “Nothing big” right as Splinter entered.

The odor swept over him, and he was up and hissing before he could even comprehend it all.

“Oh no!” Donnie could hear Mikey cry. “Not the _medicine_!” The teasing undertone made his scales itch.

But not as much as the herbal concoction invaded his nostrils and had them irritated. Some smelled okay, others absolutely pleasant, and a few were more than unpleasant— alone. It was a mess together that had his stomach upset already.

“Donatello,” said Splinter, “I do not wish to play this game with you. If you just lie down, this will be easy.”

Donnie couldn't lay down. It wouldn't let him. He indeed played _the game_ with Splinter, intentional or not. Hobbling away with angry snorts, winding around the tree, even once making a lame break for the dojo exit before a giggling Michelangelo blocked his path. Perhaps that was the best part of the agonizing moment. He was amusing his brother(s).

...Not so much Sensei. Donnie knew he could've stopped him at any time he wanted. Why he didn't immediately was a reason currently beyond him as his right foreleg buckled with a squeal. And _that_ was when he jumped in and immobilized Donnie long enough for Raph?— no, Leo— to get a better grip on the loose skin of his nape.

Donnie's lower half scuffled weakly as he huffed crossly. Splinter said only, “You could have simply laid yourself down and took it of your own accord,” before he teased the dropper into his mouth and released. Several times he did, It getting increasingly angrier and difficult. Donnie just wanted to humiliating moment to conclude.

Donnie broiled blindly for just a moment after he'd been made to swallow and released. Fiery pain shot up his limb, and it knocked him enough to get up and _get away_.

He went to essentially pout in the far corner, glaring at everyone and licking his lips almost obsessively. It'd be a while since Donnie could remember having the tea, and, now, he couldn't _quite_ be utterly upset at the animal.

“Good job,” Mikey said suddenly, too close for his notice. “You put up a pretty good fight and— whoa, hey, are you okay?”

“What did you put in that stuff?”

“I _told_ guys!”

“Raph, be quiet. Donnie, are you— Sensei, what did you put in the tea?”

Donnie wasn't conscious enough to hear the reply in full as everything went dark and blank, and the last things he was aware of was a half-pain in his jaw and raised concerned voices and something that could’ve been an articulate scream.

 

Donatello's mind was murky and swimming when he came to, and he faintly acknowledged his smarting leg. He tried moving it and hit something solid. The something grunted, Donnie thought, but he couldn't be sure. He went to look, but his neck hurt and his vision wouldn't focus all the way. The something wasn't hurting him, so whatever. Despite it, a seed of panic still planted itself in his head, and it started sprouting.

Over the rising fear, he thought he heard someone speak. It was quiet and slippery and hard to grasp, and, as he paddled through the miry body and struggled to reach solid ground, it darted away. A touch propelled him forward, and he could make out a bit of the next string: “-kay.” You're okay. That's what he was saying, over and over quietly.

Fuzzily came the acknowledgment of the huffing breaths that came from his chest, and he realized why the person next to him sounded so worried. It had to be one of his brothers— Splinter wasn't green. He couldn't tell which one though. His sense of smell was pretty unresponsive.

“Hey, can you hear me?” As Donnie found purchase, he caught his brother's words and recognized Leo's voice. His real question rang in Donnie's head.

 _Are you actually Donnie_?

He was trapped between bog and solid ground, and Donnie didn't know the answer himself.

“You do hear me,” said Leo then. “The way you're reacting… y-you have to.”

Donnie's neck was more compliant at that time, and he'd regained the ability to gaze back and meet Leo's. It seemed his breathing wasn't all too even either.

“Yeah,” he muttered, to himself. Louder, he casually said, “Hi, Donnie.”

Donnie stared for a moment, taking in his unnatural behavior with budding concern before he tried for an articulate response, and then a rumbled one.

Leo's eyes seemed to bore into him, wide-eyed. But, seemingly content then, his palm moving to his chest, Leo released a breath. “Thank you… Why did Splinter even give you it anyway? He knows—” He cut off, nervously flicking his attention to the entrance. He reached for something Donnie hadn't spotted before now and began absently fiddling with it— a hira-shuriken.

“He knows you lose your mind?” Leo attempted. “Sometimes? You looked pretty close just now.”

Donnie froze. That wasn't right. Something didn't piece up.

“He told us he found something,” Leo went on. “Some kinda anesthetic. I guess he looked harder than me. He did look last night, but, honestly, everyone was out of it or panicking, so who am I to be upset?”

The shuriken slid from his grasp, and he awkwardly lunged for it.

“Probably should've asked, but you didn't really seem competent there— no offense.” Leo looked at him expectantly, but, after a second of Donnie's silence and knitted expression, he continued reluctantly. “He said he never expected it to do that. He thought it’d just sedate you a little and make you less aware of the pain. I guess Rockwell just suggested too much for sedation. That’s what he said, at least.”

So Splinter had found his emergency barbiturates.

Absolutely grand.

Donnie's hadn't gone into cardiac arrest, so that was a plus, he supposed.

Wait— Rockwell. When had Rockwell been dragged into this?

“Yeah…” Leo said, and then perked up. “Hey, are you hungry?”

Donnie paused. Food. The thought made his stomach squirm and shame press at the edges of his psyche and that revolting, _delicious_ taste resurface on his tongue. He swallowed.

He needed to eat, no matter what he thought of, and not upset them more. He was… ravenous anyway, now that it'd been brought to his attention. So he nodded half-heartedly.

Leo didn't notice and smiled, and the fidgeting with the star ceased a bit. “Okay, Mikey's cooking you some hamburger. It's not a lot, but… You don't mind that it's cooked, do you? Okay, good. He thought you might like it better like that now. Anyway, that's where he is, and Raph's with him. Splinter… I think he's talking to Dr. Rockwell. He asked me to come, but I didn't want you waking up alone like that.”

“Thanks,” Donnie growled with moderate difficulty.

He looked at him for a bit before the smile grew a little bigger. He maneuvered himself back, and, lightly, leaned on Donnie's side without speaking. Donnie let his head fall with a puff of relief.

Leo resumed full toying with his shuriken, and Donnie observed silently. Though at one point he had held it still, eyes on the distance as his grip on the star tightened. He turned to him, opened his mouth, and then shut it, looking away and trifling more fervently. He waved him off when Donnie tried addressing it.

In spite of his sore neck, he was readying himself to persist when the scent of what he guessed to be the hamburger drifted into his nostrils. He couldn't help the noisy snuff— vomeronasal organ and all.

Automatically it smelled… unhealthy. Bad. But, at the same time, his mouth watered and his stomach begged for it. The stomach dominated.

He hardly saw Mikey himself enter, and he only blinked and redirected his attention when he said, “Hey, L— oh, hi, Donnie! You like almost-burned hamburger?” He glared briefly at Raph as he came in.

It didn't smell bad because it was burned. Not particularly. It was the grease. Grease was _not_ going to settle with him at all, but Donnie couldn't bring himself to deny it. Not when Mikey and Raph worked so hard and it was right in front of him…

He shouldn't do it and it was a terrible idea— he shouldn't really even be eating red meat this regularly if this is what they'd been feeding him, and the grease was not helping at all.

The first eager bit, immediately, hit him as bizarre. It was cooked, and his body probably wasn't accustomed to well done— blackened in some places— crumbled hamburger. His taste receptors insisted the meat had been robbed of its natural flavor and umami and that it was wrong, but, then, Donnie argued, the tang couldn't remind him of another thing.

It was hard and dry going down his throat. It was food, though, and he was famished. So it didn't take much to get the animal to relent. He soon could almost taste the value in it again.

Then he made the noise.

Like a throaty inhale, or little growl, thick and disgusting. Donnie wanted to flatten himself and try to convince the floor to swallow him, but he only kept eating outwardly, probably not seeming the least bit phased. And that was when he actually noted the manner in which he was consuming.

_Could the floor hurry it up please?_

Glancing up from the plate, no one had their attention on him, instead in a circle a bit off and conversing quietly. He caught snippets, and, from them, he wondered if they were talking about anything proper and simply trying to ignore him.

That was fine. He wouldn't want to watch it either.

The food was settling like lead in his stomach, and, despite everything, it scarcely tasted better. Perhaps it was because it was burned—or nearly so—, or because he wasn’t truly taking time to savor it properly. But in the back of his mind and in his heart, Donnie knew it was because the only good meat anymore was the raw, fresh sort.

His heart skipped.

He began to lick the plate as he finished. He suspected it was more habit of getting any myoglobin that may linger; he withdrew when the only thing he picked up was congealing grease.

 _Water_ , It demanded. Donnie had no complaint; he was plenty thirsty and eager to get the flavor out of his mouth too. But they didn't really look his way when he rumbled without much thought.

So he (or the animal? Donnie didn't know anymore) did the obvious thing and stood after being drugged and with still-painful sutures. His arm lit up with vehemence, and he could tell his resulting pule got their attention.

“Heyy _whoa_ , get back down, you crazy bastard,” Raph demanded immediately, scrambling to his feet the best he could. “Do you _want_ more busted stitches?” Under the relatively harsh tone, his already weakening arms tried faltering, and he slid down on the floor.

“Good god, what were ya even doin’?”

Donnie was met with a combination of exasperation and timidness, and, with a crackling snarl, he tried, “ _I’m thirrrsty._ ”

His feedback was stares. Donnie's face wrinkled self-consciously until:

“Ohh, I know what you want. Hang on, D.” Mikey turned to leave.

“Wait, what does he want?” asked a bewildered Leo, reaching out for Mikey's arm. “What…” But he was gone. Raph had no answer but a shrug.

“Donnie?” Leo addressed him next, whipping around. He couldn't reply. Every spoken syllable was like a jab from a knife, and Donnie didn't think he could do it anymore to save his life right now. Mikey seemed to be rather in tune with him; hopefully, he truly understood.

He averted their eyes until his greatest relief befell him: Mikey with a Tubberware of water. His brother grinned wide at his apparent sudden perkiness, and the water violently splashed when he near slammed it on the ground with a heave.

“Here,” he puffed, straightening. “If you're still thirsty after you're done, you can finish what's left in the bowl.”

Donnie paused, his nose hovering over the water surface so that his exhales ruffled the images cast. He hated it took him longer than a second to understand what he meant.

 _The floor. What's on the floor._ Looking over, he decided against trying to collect what was starting to saturate the mats and pool in the dips on the stone floor. Instead, he tentatively lapped once. It was a foreign movement; something he had knowledge of but nothing he recalled personally.

Donnie stopped _. How do dogs manage_? With a backward flick of their tongue, and, quickly, snapping their jaws shut faster than gravity could play in. Maybe. He tried to mimic the behavior with multiple laps before he ceased once more.

“Something wrong?” Mikey questioned. Glancing up, he shook his head and took the dive back down.

It took a few attempts, but Donnie soon was absorbed in the rhythm of the action and the sound of water being consistently disturbed. At some point, he had lifted the tip of his snout from the water, and he momentarily acknowledged his tongue was longer than he believed prior. His eyes flitted up occasionally; Donnie thanked whatever gods that may exist that his brothers were used to this because it was hard for him to accept. The noisy splashing, the probable added mess— he really was nothing more than an animal.

That thought didn't hurt as much as it should've, and, deep down, it scared him. He tried to think that it was because it was realized _last night_ , but he didn't know if he could believe it. It was all a blur, and the only things he remembered distinctly was the squall and the taste and the image.

Donnie's rhythm ceased for him to shudder. But he was still not quenched, and he went on. Maybe it'd get the abominable, sapid taste off his tongue, anyway.

“Hey, Donnie.” He looked up when Leo spoke, water dripping from the sides of his mouth. He tried catching the drops. “Are you really that thirsty?” Leo went on. “Because we can set out a bowl for you always. We'd just thought it'd get old.”

Donnie physically agreed and went back to the water for some last laps. With water out, he'd be able to wash the taste off his tongue all the time. The refreshment itself would be nice too.

As Donnie took his head out, Raph stepped forward and said, “I'll refill it,” and left. Donnie sighed softly, hiding his head in his arms and trying to enjoy the semi-darkness and peace.

It didn't last long because Mikey already had his arm over his nape and his face lovingly snuggled in the crook where his neck and shoulder met and was relaxing. Donnie couldn't possibly move him now, with him so content and comfortable, so he rested his head and embraced it. Mikey only moved closer into the current position and wheedled his way under Donnie's arm. Now, _this_ was mildly uncomfortable, but Donnie still couldn't move him.

Leo came over to them, his presence on Donnie's side and his palm on his head sweet comforts that distracted him from his inevitable and encroaching stomachache. His hand made slow movements, and it was hard for Donnie to not raise his head into the touch and disturb Mikey.

He heard and smelled Raph before he saw him, and it was with little words that he joined the mellow party, sitting up straight to completely lay his cheek on his carapace.

Donnie warbled softly before he could think as Leo's repetitive motions reached behind his eye. He'd angled his head and pressed it against the floor quickly. It felt so _right_ that Donnie hadn't a present problem with it. Leo exhaled his entertainment, increasing the pace of the rubbing.

“Hey, Raph,” Leo murmured then, Donnie only just catching it as the purring started up. “He's still Donnie. He's himself, and there's nothing really wrong with this, okay?... Here; try.” And Leo removed his hand, to be replaced with Raph's. It took him a moment to get back into it, but it was really no different afterward.

This he could handle; one person in one spot that wasn't extremely sensitive. It didn't send him tumbling into nothingness, and the pleasure was still strong enough to warm his heart up.

They switched again, and Leo said something else, but, really, was it any of his business? It was easier to drone them out than listen. Raph started his own circular movements on Donnie's carapace, and it grew better.

He didn't initially register Raph's gradual ceased movements. He only noticed anything outside at all when Leo's hand slid down and hit the mat near his nose. Donnie stared at it for a moment before it struck.

Donnie gingerly brought his head up, looking at all three of them asleep or damn well near it. _What is it like,_ he wondered, _to drift off next to a monster whom you tell yourself is your brother?_ Even through it all, he still could find amazment in the fact that they stuck with him like this. Even in a family similar to their own, it wasn’t too hard for him to imagine being disowned. They wouldn't, would they ever? They were comfortable enough to _sleep_ beside him. They'd never forgive themselves.

And with that appreciation and affection washed over him. He closed his eyes in the tide and dropped his head, giving an at ease sigh. Donnie thought he could stay like this forever with them, even if it meant being a monstrous freak. He knew it couldn't last now; something would and will separate them quickly. But if Donnie just nudged that away, life didn't seem too awful. What was missing was everyone else— Splinter, Casey, April. Everyone whom he loved together in quiet serenity. Mikey always said life wasn't worth living without an occasional thrill, but Donnie couldn't much see its value right then. He only cared he was by Donnie's side and secure. His eyes opened. Donnie knew Mikey would never be content with such a stationary existence. Nor Casey nor Raph nor April. Not even himself, thinking rationally.

But it was a nice thought, and he resided in it for a while longer because any more sleep at this point was impossible and unsavory. The relative quiet was so pleasant, and it hit him oddly. He'd grown up around near-constant noise, and now all he heard were the irrelevant background noises of everyday life and scattered snores. The latter was… not as pleasant, but it was brookable.

Suddenly, Mikey twitched in his sleep, and he looked over. His face worked, then fell back into the mask of slumber. Not very deep yet, but sinking further. Donnie extinguished the want to nuzzle him, fearful of rousing his brother.

Donnie had lost track of time (much to his sorrow), and he couldn't say how long they laid there. Five minutes, perhaps. Ten minutes. Five to ten minutes of heavenly congeniality before Splinter disrupted them.

The sense of bitter betrayal was first, splattered heavily with hurt, before the steady but obscure thrumming he anticipated came. It was layered thickly, and he could almost be glad for it.

Splinter couldn't have _not_ seen the glint in Donnie's eyes. He stuttered too much for it to have been anything else. After reluctance, he resumed nonetheless, albeit with more caution. Hand out subtly. Slouched forward just a bit. Ears submissive. Eyes not locking.

He was approaching Donnie as though he were nothing but a stupid, ordinary stray dog.

At the flare of evident fury, Splinter halted. “I am sorry,” he said, hushed. “I'm so sorry. I did not mean for that to happen. Absolutely not. I wanted to relieve some pain, not render you unconscious…” So he was keeping to what he told Leo. Glowering from across the room, Donnie directly met his stare. Splinter refused to surrender. “Donatello, I promise.”

That word had become the key to his heart, and he wondered when he began being so weak. The fury in Donnie died near immediately. No matter what he did, he couldn't reignite the fiery bravery, his body slumping. Splinter seemed relieved, advancing more easily.

Donnie could still manage to be bitter. Bitter over the way he had little rein of his emotions and actions; bitter over the way It could just selectively forgive and forget; bitter over how Splinter could just drug him and try to get him to shrug it off. Bitter because everyone regarded him as an animal, and they weren't necessarily wrong.

Donnie made sure to let some of the acrimony seep into his demeanor. Splinter inhaled but didn't stop… And then he was kneeling in front of him.

“Donatello,” he said, enunciating every word, “I did not mean for you to fall unconscious.”

“You could've asked,” he replied in a broken snarl. Ignoring the snagging pain, he persisted, the sudden burst filling him with audacity. “But you just… _drrrugged me_ … without _perrr_ mission... _instead_ —”

“Donnie, hush,” he whispered, slipping his hand under Donnie's jaw. “You're only hurting yourself.”

Donnie tore his head free viciously. “ _Adrrr_ ess it!” He flinched immediately, looking down at his brothers, and tried lowering his voice. “Don't… igno _rrr_ e it… Why… didn't… _you ask_?”

“I didn't think it would be so potent, and I _did_ ask Mr. Rockwell. Now, Donatello, please—”

“You’ _rrr_ e… sma _rr_ te _rrr_ … than that. You know it! You… should've _asked me_.”

“ _Donatello_ ,” he hissed, “what would I possibly gain in rendering you unconscious? This is preposterous, and you need to quit _now_.”

“I'm not… saying…” He paused in an attempt to regain some breath and restore strength to his speech. “I'm not saying y—… you pu _rrrr_ -posely… _drrrrrugged_ … me. I mean… you should've asked _me_ … of its... po- _tency_.”

Splinter stared briefly before he sternly said, “Stop. You are but causing yourself agony.  Stop, now, before you lose the ability altogether. Save your breath. Please.” It required everything in him to not outwardly collapse again. With all his strength, he held the glower, swiping and battling away cowardice. But he complied, at least for the moment, as Splinter didn't seem done. And… maybe his throat did feel like it'd been ravaged.

“I do not condemn your anger,” he went on discreetly. “You are righteously disconcerted. I—” he swallowed “—admit I should have…” Splinter trailed off, his eyes leaving him and orienting to the side. Donnie followed, biting his tongue, to see Leo stirring. He reached out, quickly patted Donnie’s snout, and began shaking Leo. “Get the others up,” he said.

Disbelief rose up from Donnie’s chest, ire racing behind. Splinter was too busy with Leo to see his face twitching into borderline loathing. With a growl, he snapped his head back and drove Raph off. When Mikey didn’t rouse in the slightest the first time Donnie shoved him, he knocked into him roughly multiple times until he rose, sputtering, “Okay, _okay._ God, who’s dying?”

“His patience,” Raph muttered nearby, getting to his haunches. He raised his voice to say, “What’s your problem now?”

Donnie ignored Raph’s added “now” and sullenly cast a sideways glance at Splinter. He caught split exasperation and contrition in his air; the only certain expression was the disapproval. His eyes grew sterner when they met his, so he moved to Leo. He noticed quickly as well he was the focus of Donnie’s attention, and he angled his head, peering at him. Then, Leo’s gaze was up, over his back, and he interchanged some interaction with his other brothers that Donnie missed. He was only beginning to theorize what they exchanged between them when Splinter deliberately said, “Donatello.”

Donnie defiantly twisted his lip into a sneer before he realized that no, Splinter was right. That wasn’t warranted, it was wrong, and it needed to be addressed as much as his own proper apology. He let himself concede, his chin falling to the floor as he rasped, “I’m… sorrry.”

There were a few ticks of uncomfortable silence before Mikey said, “Hey, that was pretty good.” It wasn’t without a beat of hesitance that he reclined back on Donnie. With him closer, he said, “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean to.” Afterward, his arms closed around his neck, tight and uncomfortable, but he decided, after what he did, he couldn’t separate. What he suspected to be Raph’s knuckles brushed his shoulder, Leo’s hand following. Maybe it was the other way around, for he couldn’t say certainly. His eyes were trained forward, open a sliver, and he was grappling with the sensations just to keep his face neutral.

Mikey withdrew suddenly, and remorse pricked his conscience. But when he inclined his head to apologize, he saw Mikey not looking at him, but at Splinter, a few steps away. “I am sorry,” he started, “but I came first to ask that you come to the laboratory. Mr. Rockwell is asking for help.”

Donnie’s heart dropped.

“He doesn’t necessarily need all of you,” he went on quickly, eyes lingering on Donnie for a moment. “One or two extra hands will be fine, with Mr. O’Neil absent.”

“Oh, I wanna help!” Mikey said and gave Donnie an apologetic look. “Sorry, dude, but I haven’t really got a lotta chances to help them. Sounds fun too.” He rose when he didn’t see any objections.

Leo brows creased and he stood as well, saying, “I’ll help too, if that’s fine.” He limped over, favoring his left leg. Odd; Donnie hadn’t noticed that injury before. But he noticed the elongated stare Mikey fixed Leo with as he approached and shot away casually once he drew nearer. Donnie decided to focus on Leo’s leg instead, trying to figure if it was an outward injury—he couldn’t see any. Perhaps a muscle strain.

“We set? All right. Raph, you treat Donnie good, okay?” Mikey said, a bare smile tugging at his lips.

Raph chuffed. “He’s my brother too. Not like I’m gonna beat ‘im.”

“You better not!”

“Please don’t.”

“Donnie, no! I just said I _wouldn’t_ dammit.”

“Do you mean to go?” Splinter interrupted, gazing between them and seeming loosely baffled.

Mikey swiftly looked at Leo before saying, “Oh, uh, yeah.” He turned and started off, waving as he did. Donnie tried bidding him a quiet farewell, but this only resulted in a grumble. Raph’s hand met his neck.

“Are you coming too?” Leo asked Splinter, and Donnie turned his attention to Raph, who stared ahead at them without expression. He stroked once or twice, and then it ceased and was just stationary contact.

“Mr. Rockwell said I deserved a rest.”

His expression twitched.

“Oh, okay.”

Donnie gently bunted his leg when he felt Raph’s hand twitch. He fondled a bit more.

“Leonardo, watch your leg. Tell Mikey to mind his arm!”

Raph puffed.

“Hai, Sensei!”

Donnie stared up at him, trying to get his eye contact.

“Would you boys like to watch a movie?” Leo had gone, Donnie realized, and Splinter was regarding them.

That was when Raph acknowledged him, eye ridges raised. He gave a little nod, and his brother said, “Sounds great Sensei.” As soon as he departed, presumably to see what they had, Raph slumped, and his eyes hardened. “Why does Rockwell need help?” he asked. “He’s tele-whatever. Psychic. He can _levitate_ things! Why does he need help?”

“Maybe… he gets tirrred… too.” Donnie rolled his head to the side. “ Also, it’s… tele-pathic… and tele-kinetic.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Raph grumbled, but he patted Donnie’s neck. Then, he sighed. “If you can make it down the steps, we better go with him and make sure chooses a half-decent show.” Donnie doubted he’d be able to follow whatever they selected, but it would be something to occupy his mind, he concluded, as he gingerly pulled himself to his feet. _God_ , that hurt. None of that running and resisting had done him any good.

“You gonna make it?”     

“I’m… _fine_ ,” he wheezed, mutinously pushing forward. Raph nonetheless never left Donnie’s side as he picked his way to the common room.

  


No matter what position Donnie tried, he couldn’t ease the ferocious churning in his stomach. He’d been battling nausea the entire time since they settled together about an hour ago. Sleep was far from his mind as he inhaled deeply. He pulled his limbs closer to no avail. His body angrily heaved, and he didn’t stop the whimper.

There was no point. Donnie removed himself from the pile as carefully as he was able, stepping free heavily despite it. Once so, he made off, as swiftly as a sick, lame mutant his size could, out of the lair. His throat burned. He all but ran to a nearby tunnel and disgorged the hamburger until he was retching and hacking. He laid for a few moments afterward, breathing thickly and entreating the agony everywhere to die down. He shortly _made_ himself stand and return, for the last thing he wanted was to be missed. He ignored the tugging in his paws because he was _not_ going to follow that right now. He tripped up on his way over the turnstiles, and pain danced up his rear right leg. Donnie staggered, took a deep inhale, and fought forward, all the way back to the dojo where he collapsed with a gasp. Someone moved back toward his plastron, but he didn’t know for certain as he fell away.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot of things were added and removed so if any details seem out of place yell at me. i'll take anything. 
> 
>  
> 
> okay also HOW do you name things well??


	7. not a chapter but an update

so like... hey. finally got that rewritten bit of it done over [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14497341/chapters/33490656)  
  
I felt like it needed to be renewed, and uh... there'll probably be a full explanation over there?  
short story, this one here is pretty bad   
i don't know if anyone really cares but hey. i can try. 


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